


A Match Made In The Heavens

by VorpalGirl



Series: Chronicles of the SSF Sanders [1]
Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: (not a literal parent but The Vibe is there), (well by human standards at least), (which are not mutually exclusive and I love that fact), Alien Anxiety | Virgil Sanders, Alien Biology, Alien Character(s), Alien Deceit | Janus Sanders, Alien/Human Relationships, Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Anxiety | Virgil Sanders Needs a Hug, Anxiety | Virgil Sanders is a Little Shit, Anxiety | Virgil Sanders is a Sweetheart, Anxious Anxiety | Virgil Sanders, Arranged Marriage, CHARACTERIZATION TAGS FOLLOW:, Caring Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders, Caring Logic | Logan Sanders, Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders & Dark Creativity | Remus "The Duke" Sanders Are Twins, Creativity | Roman Sanders Knows How to Network, Deceit | Janus Sanders is Bad at Feelings, Genderfluid Deceit | Janus Sanders, Gift Fic, Human Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders, Human Logic | Logan Sanders, IN SPACE!, Latino Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders, M/M, Neurodivergent Anxiety | Virgil Sanders, Neurodivergent Logic | Logan Sanders, Neurodiversity, Other, Parental Deceit | Janus Sanders, Platonic Anxiety | Virgil Sanders & Deceit | Janus Sanders, Protective Deceit | Janus Sanders, Sassy Deceit | Janus Sanders, Scientist Logic | Logan Sanders, Shapeshifting, Slow Burn, Space Stations, TSS Fanworks Collective Secret Santa, Updates Daily Until Complete!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-24
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:42:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 28,896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27813994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VorpalGirl/pseuds/VorpalGirl
Summary: One of the most important moments in human history, happened on what started as an otherwise perfectly ordinary day in a tiny, peaceful little country that happened to be in the orbital space around Earth.Or:Logan goes to work one day to tinker with experimental communications tech, and winds up with an alien fiance.
Relationships: Anxiety | Virgil Sanders & Deceit | Janus Sanders, Anxiety | Virgil Sanders/Logic | Logan Sanders, Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders & Logic | Logan Sanders
Series: Chronicles of the SSF Sanders [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2066703
Comments: 47
Kudos: 72
Collections: TSS Fanworks Collective, TSS Fanworks Collective Discord Secret Santa





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Odaigahara](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Odaigahara/gifts).



> For TSS Fanworks Collective discord's Secret Santa! 
> 
> Droid's wishlist had 3 different possible ships, four possible characters, and some pretty wild variety of AUs, genres and keywords... and me being me, I decided it would be fun to try and coherently combine _as many as possible_ into the exact same story (insert Remus Trashfire Emoji here!). Somehow this wound up with me doing a huge amount of research and worldbuilding but I had a ton of fun with it, so hopefully you do too, Droid! :D

One of the most important moments in human history, happened on what started as an otherwise perfectly ordinary day in a tiny, peaceful little country that happened to be in the orbital space around Earth.

This country was Officially Named (according to international agreements) as the _Sovereign Space Facility Sanders_ , Officially Abbreviated in international news and diplomatic communications as _SSF Sanders_ or _SSFS_ , and colloquially referred to by Earth-bound humans and other space facilities, as _SanStat_.

To the people who had lived and worked there for years, it was simply _the Station_ , or, of course, “home”. 

Interestingly, the two human individuals most directly involved in this moment in history — in the events which would forge humanity’s first alliance with an advanced and thankfully peaceful culture from beyond their star system, gaining in the process, access to the slipspace technology that would genuinely open the stars to them — were not only native residents of this tiny orbital country, but related to its most famous founder, Ricardo “King” Reyes.

The charismatic and uniquely stubborn Reyes, who led the famously bloodless revolution that gained the Station its independence and who helped form and stabilize the resulting society and government over the course of the following decade and a half, had two children — a pair of twins, named Roman and Remus Reyes, respectively — and three siblings. 

One of those siblings’ children — one Dr. Logan Sinclair — would grow up to be a brilliant engineer and physicist.

It is Dr. Sinclair, and his cousin, Roman Reyes, who found the Message that changed the course of humanity’s future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IN OUR NEXT CHAPTER...
> 
> "The Message"
> 
> or: 
> 
> Whatever Roman might have expected after an urgent-sounding text from Logan, it certainly wasn't "so I think I may have been in contact with extraterrestrials, and..."


	2. The Message

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (chapter word count: 3846)
> 
> Whatever Roman might have expected after an urgent-sounding text from Logan, it certainly wasn't "so I think I may have been in contact with extraterrestrials, and…"

_I preface this with the clarification that nothing is “wrong”, but - I need you to come and see me at the lab as soon as possible_ , the text had read.

From Logan, of course. Even if Roman hadn’t already had his primo’s current number already saved in his phone, he’d have known it was Logan if only because literally nobody _else_ he knew wrote every one of their privately-sent texts in such… _schoolroom-perfect_ language. Complete with formal punctuation - even a comma, for goodness sake! Who bothered with extra commas they didn’t actually need for clarity in _SMS_ formats?

“Nerd,” he muttered fondly. He glanced back up to see that the lift was almost _exactly_ at the right floor, and urgently attempted to school his expression into something less, er, _amused_. Just in case Logan was near the elevator when he got there.

After all, if there was one thing Logan “Takes Things Too Literally” Sinclair _wasn’t_ known for, it was exaggerating. 

Which meant that ‘as soon as possible’ meant something Important had happened. Probably something too complicated or… private, maybe, to go over the open comm lines. 

But nothing Lo considered ‘wrong’ or bad? Which made Roman wonder _—_

“Roman!” Logan said, mere seconds after the door opened and in probably the most simultaneously eager and _nervous_ tone Roman thought he’d ever heard him use. “Good! You’re here, come with me…”

He reached forward, grabbed Roman’s arm, and started almost _dragging_ him into the lab proper.

Which…was weird, for Logan. 

Weird enough that Roman didn’t even reply out loud, simply raised a silent brow at him, wondering if they had to like, play secret agent here or something.

Because unlike Roman to some extent (and Roman’s brother to a… very large extent) Logan wasn’t… _spontaneously grabby_. He never just _grabbed_. 

He had always been better than he even needed to be at respecting others’ personal space, polite to the point of quaintness, honestly.

“I —” Logan blew out a breath, and after bringing him to his workstation, closed his eyes and did some deep, slow breathing for a moment.

Scattered across the workstation were several tools of varying degrees of familiarity, a pair of almost comically large over-the-ear headphones, and…a lot of very expensive looking electronics that Roman “I have a Masters In Fine Arts” Reyes figured he probably shouldn’t be touching, so he very carefully made sure he didn’t.

Instead, he waited patiently for Logan to collect himself.

And tried not to get freaked out a little by the fact that _Logan_ needed a moment to collect himself, because it took a fair amount of something to un-collect him in the first place.

“So,” Logan said, slowly, as he opened his eyes.

“So?” Roman replied, brows raised again. “Gonna tell me what this is about, Lo?”

Logan nodded — almost tentatively, Roman noticed. That… really didn’t help keep him from being on edge.

“I…think,” he said, cautiously. “I may have made a — a rather…” Logan swallowed, cleared his throat, and thankfully before Roman could actually arrive in Panic Attack Land, finished with: “Momentous discovery.”

 _‘Discovery’,_ he had said. 

Not _‘mistake’_ , or _‘blunder’_ , or anything like that. _Discovery._

Roman slowly started to grin.  
  
“An unexpected one, I take it?”

Logan nodded eagerly, and now that he watched his face more carefully Roman could see flickers of hope behind all those jitters.

All of Roman’s own anxiety promptly started turning into giddy little butterflies. 

“' _Momentous'_ , huh?” he said, grinning even wider.

The flutter of a smile he got in return — baffled and awestruck in equal measures — confirmed what he already knew:

Logan Sinclair didn’t exaggerate.

Ever.

Whatever he had found, it was something _big_.

Something _amazing._

“Well! Okay then, Doctor Adorkable,” Roman said, gesturing to him. “Do very much go on; you’ve got me intrigued, now!”

Logan swallowed again (Roman wondered if he needed to grab him some water) and nodded, plopping down on his chair and gesturing to the equipment on the table.

“As I may have mentioned previously,” he began. “I’m working on perfecting some rather exciting experimental technology that could have far-reaching consequences for communications — yes?” he turned to glance at Roman, hopeful that he was following this.

“Fancy new comm-related tech, yeah,” Roman nodded, slowly. “I remember you mentioning something like that.”

“Right,” Logan said, swallowing. “So… this technology, for — for lack of a better or more succinct summary, essentially, it would allow us to exploit microscopic wormholes, in order to create a… shortcut, if you will, past much of normal space.”

Roman blinked. “Um. What?”

Logan huffed — in amusement, thankfully, Roman noted — pursed his lips, and then tried again: 

“It locates invisible little tunnels in the metaphorical 'fabric' of reality, which have a hole on the end near the device, determines where they actually connect at the other end, and — well. Effectively, if you can keep it stable — then, ideally, you’ve created a tiny… bypass, if you will, through which communications data can be transmitted at a much quicker speed than they would be under normal circumstances.”

“Okay,” Roman said slowly, trying to wrap his head around the latter end of that, at least. “Like… how when they were still doing Mars Rovers and stuff, they had to pre-program a lot of it or make it autonomous kinda, because it couldn’t communicate with home base in real-time?”

“Yes!” Logan said. “Exactly! Even Luna, for example, is just far enough away from the Earth that there is a minor delay even in radio wave transmission — not enough that anybody would notice in a back and forth radio transmission, granted, it’s only a second or so to traverse the distance once — but it’s more than enough to measure, even back in the early days of space flight. And once you get further and further out — to Mars, for instance, or to the asteroid belt, or the rings around Jupiter, all of which are places of interest — that time of course increases as well. Such that even Mars at its _closest_ would take about three and a half minutes just to get a message to _or_ from them — and one can double that if they expect the information exchange to go both ways, even if it were an automated one. At its furthest, it’s even more inconveniently distanced — as far as 20 light-minutes away, which means a simple exchange of ‘hellos’ over the radio would take over forty minutes.”

“…sooo, what I’m hearing here,” Roman said, starting to grin, “is if you want to avoid having to pick up someone’s call, go to Mars?”

Logan gave him a flat, briefly squinty look. Roman could almost physically see him resisting the urge to roll his eyes. 

“You joke,” he said, in a tone that promptly made Roman regret his own. “But this is important, Roman. The latency of the transmission is barely noticeable between Earth and Luna, let alone ourselves and either Earth or Luna, but elsewhere? In locations with little to no atmosphere — or unbreathable ones like Mars, or climates where, say, the temperatures reach well above or below normal human tolerances?” 

He met Roman’s gaze and held it, firmly, and a _grave_ couldn’t have been more serious. “Three and a half minutes… could be quite literally, a matter of life or death.”

Roman shuddered, unable to avoid thinking of that one nursery rhyme Remus fixated on for a solid week, back when they were six or so. Back before he’d even heard the lyrics to a certain other song about mutilating disabled mice, that was set to the same tune:

  
  
 _Three minutes max, three minutes max  
_ _Don’t you delay, don’t stop to chat  
_ _Bring them right back if they lose their hat  
_ _Else you’ll be calling the funeral staff_  
 _Cause kid out there, all that they have:  
_ _Is three minutes max._

Three minutes.

Not even three and a half.

 _Three_.

 _If_ you were lucky.

 _If_ you wound up in the vacuum of space without a properly sealed and pressurized suit, _but_ you you did everything right ( _exhale immediately; attempt remedy and signal distress within five seconds_ ) _and_ if you got help immediately ( _POW: Pressurization, Oxygen, Warmth_ ), _and_ if you were _really, truly, **lucky** …_

…then you got exactly, _precisely,_ three minutes.

That wasn’t even counting things like fires in high-oxygen environments, or collisions, or — any number of _other_ potential incidents he preferred not to think about, that could easily take the same amount of time to become lethal. 

Or less than that, even.

Life or death, indeed.

“Sorry,” he said softly. “I — you’re right. You seemed pretty excited though, right?” he said, forcing some hope back into his voice. “You said this tech could shorten that kind of thing, right?”

“Ah,” Logan said, and adjusted his glasses. “Yes, well. Firstly, as I’m sure you’ll be pleased to hear, so far the technology has been proving quite promising, in that it is apparently repeatable enough to be reliable, if, granted, highly energy inefficient — to the extreme, really, but — ”

Roman could already see the potential tangent coming. And after having already had war flashbacks to Remus’ dreaded _nursery rhyme phase_ that day, he decided he _really_ would prefer to be inspired rather than let down at this point. So he gently prodded him back on track.

“Lo? What was the actual discovery? This amazing, momentous discovery you were talking about, remember? Was it related to this thing you’ve been working on, then?”

“Oh!” Logan said sheepishly. “Yes. Of course. Well… oddly enough, it is not… so much the machine we’ve been working on, so much as…” He sighed, and ran a hand through his hair. “During the process of testing it, I received a… peculiar signal.”

“Peculiar?” Roman said, frowning. “Peculiar how?”

"Well, you see I —” Logan turned back to the workstation and pointed to a vaguely more familiar-looking but still somewhat foreign piece of equipment. “I was using the RDF, in an endeavor to communicate with Luna Base, and since I do know their location of course it takes half the work out of it but it is a sufficient means of testing the calibration of the device and —" Logan paused, arching a brow at Roman’s… pinched expression, and chose to reword things. "I was trying to pinpoint the location of proper communications with Luna Base, via radio frequency."

"Okay,” Roman said, nodding slowly. “I… can follow that much? Kinda? So what does that have to do with your ‘peculiar signal’?"

"Well, you see…the fact of the matter is that I _know_ the direction of Luna Base. I know where it is, I know what frequencies I'm looking for. It's a mere formality, just a test." Logan ran a hand through his hair again, which from the looks of it he already had done many times as it was. "However. I also know their _equipment_ , and I know what I should be receiving back. The fact of the matter is, Roman, that this signal…this signal is _not coming_ from Luna Base. It's… " 

He paused, gaze growing distant a moment as he struggled to articulate in a way his cousin would follow. "The signal is discernible, of course; I picked it up and it's quite clear. But it's not from any _known_ location. Nor is it from any preregistered regulation device. And while it's entirely possible that they're using something cobbled together or otherwise altered… I find it unlikely that that would render my equipment _unable_ to recognize it to this extent."

"Sooo what you're saying is 'I don't know who sent it, on what equipment, or from where, but it sure ain't the nerds on Luna?'"

Logan's lips twitched faintly, a hint of amusement on his face before he schooled himself back to attentiveness. "That is correct. But… it's more than just that. The signal was… well, it was… essentially, it was in _a_ language, but certainly not one I would have expected from the average radio transmission."

Roman arched a brow. "Oh? What did it sound like, then?"

Logan looked very much like he was resisting the urge to bite his lip, before he answered: 

“Math.”

Roman’s brow was already arched about as far as it would go, so he had to settle for raising the other brow and adding in a weird head tilt to emphasize his confusion.

“Math counts as a language now?” That would sure surprise the heck out of his Language Arts teachers, he thought.

“Yes, actually,” Logan said. “In a sense, at least. In fact, it is if you will, the only _universal_ so-called ‘language’.” He glanced over to Roman, eyes darting away and back again before he added, so quietly Roman wasn’t sure he would have heard him if they weren’t the only two people in the lab by then: 

“ _Very_ …universal, Roman. To the extent… well, I — I’m not sure how else to put this, but… I. I believe it is… _possible_ that it is not… a signal that is necessarily human in origin.”

Well, Roman’s forehead was getting a real good workout today wasn’t it. Now it got to go downward again. “Come again?”

He noticed around that time that Logan’s cheeks were a little pink. 

“I — it. It is going to sound somewhat ludicrous if I say it out loud,” he said. “But — Roman. Roman, I think this might be a message sent by — by a _non-human_ intelligence.”

It took a long moment for Roman’s brain to parse it, but eventually he realized:

“Wait, you — you don’t mean…?”

“I — I think it may be, well. From…another intelligent species?”

Roman’s head swam. “You mean… you don’t mean — _aliens?”_

“I know it seems improbable,” Logan said, his tone quietly pleading, and Roman realized that maybe he’d sounded like he thought Logan was crazy, rather than the truth, which was that Logan had just _dropped the biggest damn news in history on him_ and he was still reeling from the implications. 

“But,” Logan continued. “I can think of no other logical explanation for this combination of — of facts and circumstances. The signal came from seemingly nowhere, and was produced by no known or even recognizable device made by humans. It came from a location _between_ here and Luna Base, even though supposedly no one and nothing that could _possibly_ be sending any kind of signal, should be in that area of space. And most… most suggestively, most _importantly_ I feel, given the context of everything else… it contained information that seemed entirely too _clear_ , too coherent and specific, to not be a deliberate construction. And it repeated, several times. Like a _message,_ Roman, and the message is _entirely_ in simple, but very clearly _mathematical,_ form.”

Roman Reyes, it should be noted, was a very creative thinker, and thus had a tendency to overthink a great number of the things. Which is why he thought to ask:

"…how is math _not_ a ‘human language’, though? Isn't it like a… a social construct, or something?" 

If there was one really mind-blowing thing Roman had learned back in biology classes, after all, it was how many things one might be surprised were, in fact, social constructs, simply because humans liked making things up and putting them into very tiny little boxes that nature occasionally liked to have a good laugh at. Math definitely seemed, to him at least, like the kind of thing that could fall under that.

"No!” Logan replied. “That’s the thing!”

And oh, his eyes were just about lighting up, now, Roman thought; it was…refreshing, in a way. To see him so excited, so caught up in the anticipation of something. 

It had been a long time since Roman had seen him this enthusiastic about something new. If he ever had.

“The _description_ of it can be,” Logan continued, clearly on a roll now, because he was starting to talk faster. “And the uses for it often are of course socially dictated, and different cultures either have or haven't discovered different _aspects_ but — math _itself_ isn't strictly _human_ at all. It just… is. A product of two numbers will always be a product of those two numbers, for instance, no matter _how_ you write them down or say them out loud in descriptive words. In fact, on that note —"

He held up one hand, his fingers splayed, wiggling.

"The number of fingers I'm showing… the words or symbols you use to _describe_ it don't impact the _fact_ that there are _five actual_ fingers. You may choose to call them or write them down as something other than the _word_ 'five' - as ‘cinco’ for instance, as the Arabic numeral for it, as a V, as a series of 1's and 0's even, but the _actual amount_ of fingers? That is not changed by any of those things. Whatever you _label_ it, Roman, however you may record it visually, doesn't ultimately matter. The number, _itself,_ the _amount_ … _that_ is a fact that will be true either way. Which is _why_ it isn't a strictly ‘human’ language, Roman. While _conveyance_ of it has its limits outside of such, math _itself_ is truly universal."

He lowered his hand, but didn’t stop there.

"Which is why prime numbers — a simple concept, a semi-random pattern among numbers, that any whole number above the quantity of one which cannot be a product of anything other than itself and '1' — are extremely important. They are the figurative ‘building blocks’ of other numbers, which are, in the case of whole non-prime numbers, all multiples of at least one prime number —"

Roman closed his eyes and rubbed at them. "Okay. You’re starting to lose me, Isaac Nerdton. You know I always fell asleep in —"

" _My extremely relevant point_ ,” Logan said, and Roman couldn’t help but open his eyes again and meet Logan’s own at that. “Is that _prime numbers_ are _notable_ , Roman, because they are the pieces, the amounts, from which _all other simple math_ , of all other whole numbers, are _made_ of. Even more so than the concept of zero — that is, comprehending the existence of 'nothingness' — the understanding of what primes _are,_ is a very basic thing, mathematically speaking. You would expect any civilization which had advanced enough to develop any electronic technology at all, whatsoever, to understand what a prime number _is_ — at least collectively — and you would therefore expect them, logically speaking, to be able to recognize not only what the _lowest few_ prime numbers are, but also to be able to recognize a repeating _pattern_ of… well, anything which they could perceive in the form of something easily countable, would you not?"

"I… guess?"

"Which is why it's long been proposed,” Logan said, leaning forward in his chair toward him, eyes so lively they could have been on fire, Roman thought. “That if an extraterrestrial intelligence existed, and could — and chose to — communicate with anybody who could receive the communication, then they would _presumably use_ something like, say, repeating patterns… and, specifically: prime numbers.”

The way Logan said that felt… significant. Enough so that Roman, who knew Logan better than almost anybody, who knew that while Logan could ramble, there was always a _direction_ to it, could tell exactly where this was going.

“That’s… exactly what it is, isn’t it,” he said softly. “Repeating patterns of prime numbers?”

“Yes,” Logan replied, a smile at the edge of his lips.

"Okay…" Roman said, more to himself than to Logan, really. 

And then, precisely _because_ he was a romantic, precisely because he _wanted_ it to be true, and knew that even if it _weren’t_ Logan finding this, it would break his own heart to dash these hopes if they got too high first, he could not resist playing Devil’s Advocate one last time. 

So, he asked:

"Except… humans came up with _that_ idea, right? Conceived of it? So, a human could do the same thing, create and send a similar kind of signal, yeah?"

"While this is true in and of itself, it's… it's highly unlikely in the given circumstances. And — and Roman, there’s…there’s one last thing, that really makes me think it’s _possible_ this is the figurative ‘real deal’."

“Yeah?”

“Well,” he said cautiously. “It’s… more conjecture than it is a fact in its own right, but…”

“But? Come on, don’t leave me hanging, Lo! Er, metaphorically, you know.”

Logan shot him another small smile, and said, softly:

“It’s… possible that a— version of the same basic technology I’ve been experimenting with? That… well. Depending on — a number of other factors that are currently unknown, granted, but it’s theoretically — “ he took a breath, and took a moment, before looking back up at him. “It’s _theoretically_ possible, that something similar could be used… not just for reducing long-distance _communication_ latency, but… for travel. Hypothetically, at least. It would be far beyond what _we’re_ currently capable of, but —”

Roman sucked in a sharp breath, his heart fluttering in his chest. 

“But maybe _somebody else_ could have already figured it out,” he said. “And if they did — ?”

“If they did,” Logan said. “It’s not…implausible, that — it’s not _impossible_ , at least, that —that in one quick go, they could bypass quite a lot of space. Perhaps…even over a light-year, or —”

“Or a lot of light-years?” Roman whispered, his chest practically thrumming. 

“I cannot rule it out,” Logan said, shakily, but not unhappily. 

Roman’s hands fluttered, and he struggled not to breathe too hard. “Okay. Okay, so — what do we do with this? Like, is that all they sent? Is it — I mean, is there a way to _reply?”_

And here, Logan actually did, quite noticeably Roman realized, start to shake. 

“That’s the thing,” he said, his voice thready. He looked down, his gaze flickering nervously up to Roman again and then back down. “I…already did.”

“…you _did?”_

“Yes. I — sent a signal of my own, to the same area of space. On the same frequency. I — I replied, repeating the beginning of their message back, and then _adding_ the next several primes in the sequence, in a similar manner.”

Logan was breathing hard, now, his hands absent-mindedly wringing themselves in slow motion as he looked back up to Roman, once again, and this time he didn’t avert his gaze, and this time his eyes were just about the widest Roman had ever seen them.

Roman went still, then. 

“You…you got a reply _back_. Didn’t you.” 

“Yes,” Logan said, swallowing. “And… Roman. Roman, this is — this is half the reason I wanted to talk to you. It sounds… very much like —” 

He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, let it out. He opened his eyes again, and continued: “…like they want to meet.” 

He turned his gaze at least back to Roman’s own, and added:

“In person.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * "Primo" = Spanish for "cousin".
> 
> * The science in this chapter is like probably 50/50 Highly Theoretical Handwaving (wormhole tech stuff), and hard cold facts my beta and I frantically googled on and off for like 2 days or so (including, yes, the actual max and minimum distance in light-minutes to Mars from Earth, the maximum amount of time you can survive in space without a suit - which is a lot longer than I thought but also still *utterly terrifying* of course. Much thanks to my lovely beta KF for rabbit holing *for* me while I was writing some days, including digging up the radio terminology I needed) 
> 
> *On that note, if you ever need to calculate the "light delay" (which is conveniently for us, exactly the same as radio transmission delay because fun fact, radio waves are part of the same "electromagnetic spectrum" as light and thus travel at the speed of light) to major bodies in our solar system? Then this site (in conjunction with dates and approximate times of Mars' closest and furthest points from Earth, which were google-able) is what I used and it was VERY helpful: https://lightdelay.to/
> 
> IN THE NEXT CHAPTER…
> 
> "The Meeting"
> 
> or:
> 
> They'd be absolutely crazy to borrow a tiny craft and go out, just the two of them, to meet what *hypothetically* might be aliens, right?
> 
> …so of course, that's exactly what they talk themselves into doing.


	3. The Meeting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They'd be absolutely crazy to borrow a tiny craft and go out, just the two of them, to meet what *hypothetically* might be aliens, right?
> 
> …so of course, that's exactly what they talk themselves into doing.

Logan was having a very interesting but _extremely stressful_ day. 

Admittedly, a lot of the latter was something he could only _really_ blame on himself, but in his defense, these were _highly_ unusual circumstances. For starters, he _may_ earlier that day have been, effectively, mathematically _conversing_ with an actual extraterrestrial being (or possibly beings?).  
  
Which would, _if true,_ be both metaphorically ground-breaking, and, well, _really cool,_ figuratively speaking. 

He and his cousin might be the very first humans to ever communicate, let alone meet with, a sapient, extraterrestrial species! This would be _astonishing_ , historical, _wonderful_ …!

Or, it _would_ be.

_Unless._

Unless, that is, _he,_ a highly capable _engineer,_ working in an _advanced field of physics,_ who _used radio signals in his experimental tests on a daily basis,_ had somehow… been the successful subject of an elaborate prank.  
  
Possibly even one technically utilizing simple radio parts or the like. Which would just be so much of the proverbial salt in the metaphorical wound. 

Because if he were wrong — if this were some… some other engineer or radio technician or, god forbid, _bored teenager,_ just trying to see if they could _trick_ someone into believing they had been communicating with aliens? Well.

He’d never, as the saying went, ‘live it down.’ 

If he was wrong and this was a _hoax?_ Then his doctorate, his papers, all his existing _promising results_ … very little of that seemed like it would be able to metaphorically overshadow the sheer _damage_ to his reputation that being pranked into calling in Authorities on a figurative ‘false alarm’ like that would do. Indeed, if he had actually been fooled into thinking human-created radio signals had been coming from extraterrestrials, it might even call into question whether he was truly capable on the level to which someone with his credentials, doing his work, _should_ by all accounts _be_.

It could put his reputation at risk.

Worse yet, it could put his _funding_ at risk.

To a man who had only _earned_ his Doctorate less than twelve months prior, and who knew exactly how lucky he was to get a sufficient if not outright _generous_ grant to engage in his potentially world-changing research right out of the figurative gate?  
  
Well, to a man like that, the mere thought of it was quite frankly terrifying. 

It could destroy his career, he worried. Right when it was figuratively taking off.

But… he couldn’t _not_ check, right?

Just because something seems incredibly improbable, doesn’t mean it’s _impossible.  
  
_ So many had already suggested over the years that, statistically speaking, there should be _someone_ else out there, _somewhere_ . Granted, many others had thought it just as _un_ likely, but that just made it an open question, did it not? Many other worlds did seem to exist in regions of space and in potential manners, in which Earth-like life could potentially survive or develop, ergo, it was not _impossible_ that at least one of them had also developed life of some sort, much like their own star system had. 

Plus, there was the understanding they had now of wormhole physics.

He hadn’t even quite theorized how to definitely, _feasibly_ stabilize and expand wormholes in a way that would usefully and safely transfer matter, but that didn’t mean there _wasn’t_ one. It just meant it might not be the same as what one could seemingly use for mere radio communications.

And if there _was_ a way…  
  
Then the equivalent of faster-than-light travel might, hypothetically at least, be available to someone technologically advanced enough; at least for short bursts certainly and —

And if it _was…_

The thing was —

 _The thing was, it wasn’t_ **_impossible._ **

Which meant he couldn’t bear to leave it uninvestigated. 

He just… couldn’t. 

Which went a long metaphorical way towards at least _explaining,_ albeit not necessarily _excusing,_ where they were right then.

Which was to say: on a borrowed trash scoop (a small, squat little vessel intended for the use of retrieving orbital refuse, so as to keep orbital paths relatively clear of potentially damaging debris) which was being piloted by his cousin _,_ who _fortunately_ at least still had a valid-for-a-couple-of-more-months license to operate such a vessel (which he had from the previous summer job that had helped fund the expenses of moving into his current apartment); but this was not particularly reassuring, since he hadn’t _used_ said license in at least several _months_ , and nearly scraped the side of the bay when they were leaving, and even _the ship_ was only _barely_ borrowed with permission, as he “knew a guy” who had wanted, and via Roman actually gotten, tickets to some sort of very popular live theater production at some point, and —

And this entire plan was cobbled together in a matter of hours by his second-most impulsive relative.  
  
Who was also, perhaps inadvisably, the _only person_ he had gone with to investigate the… well. _Coordinates._

All of this was incredibly reckless, especially when only a _handful_ of people — namely, whomever was manning Traffic Control, and the one person from the Station’s maintenance berth who had gotten them access to the scoop in the first place — even knew they had left the Station. 

And now here they were. Just the two of them. Barely even in sight of the Station anymore, and all on the simple premise of having received a location where _presumably_ the being or beings he had been communicating with would be able to… _maybe_ meet them.

 _If_ it weren’t a prank, that is.

He was just in the process of yet again unavoidably praying it _wasn’t,_ when he abruptly had to change his mind and hope something else:  
  
Namely, that they came in _peace._

Because that…

“Okay,” Roman said, voice strained. “Am… am seeing things or crazy or something, because that —”

“No,” Logan replied, swallowing against a suddenly dry throat. “You aren’t. I… have never seen a craft of that design before.” 

And he suspected he had a very good idea as to why.

* * *

  
  
Roman was just puzzling over how the hell to describe the thing without referencing actual rocks, clams, or the Sydney Opera House, when he noticed a _hatch_ slowly opening near the back.  
  
“It looks… like an airlock, maybe?” Logan murmured. 

They looked at each other, suddenly apprehensive.

It was _incredibly_ reckless to even _consider_ going in. They had no idea of what they were about to walk into! It would be nuts. They’d be nuts to consider it.

…on the other hand, apparently he _was_ nuts, because the curiosity was about eating him alive and he could tell just looking at him that the same was true of Logan.

“Okay,” Roman said carefully. “So. I assume if this is… First Contact with an _entire new species_ , you won’t want to miss it when you got the stupid signal figured out in the first place —”  
  
Logan laughed, and it was just about _made_ of nerves.

And yet:

“You… would be correct,” he admitted. 

“‘Kay,” Roman replied, nodding slowly. “But uhhh, just saying, I _also_ don’t want you to go _alone_ , just in case? So —”

Logan snorted, and smirked at him.  
  
“Well, yes. As if I’d expect you to _not_ walk recklessly into an unknown situation with me?”

Roman chuckled.

“You know me so well, Tony Snark. So – if we’re _both_ going in, we’re gonna have to… tether it, right?” he said, grimacing warily at it. “Even assuming they come in peace, the _last_ thing I want is for this thing to drift away from us. Even if they gave us a ride back, like, Toby would _kill_ me if I lost this thing. Er — metaphorically, anyway.” He paused. “At least I certainly _hope_ it would be metaphorically, but let’s not find out, shall we?”  
  
He tapped the steering wheel for a moment, thinking. “Anyway. This thing’s equipped with a magnetic tether by default, so —”  
  
Logan gave a thoughtful little hum. “ _Assuming_ the hull is magnetic enough to begin with for it to work, that would be ideal.”  
  
Roman gave the craft an appraising glance. “Looks pretty metallic on the… flat side?”  
  
“Metallic appearance means very little when it could be the craft of an alien species,” Logan said, giving him an almost reproachful side-eye.

To which Roman looked at him, both brows raised about as high as they could go. “ _Could_ be? _That_ thing? Are we even _looking_ at the same _craft_ , Lo-can-do?”

“ _Technically,_ we won’t know for sure until we’re… at least closer, I assume. But yes, that much is… promising.” He paused, frowning speculatively at it. “Even if it’s actually metal… not even every metal _we_ work with has a particularly strong magnetic pull, Roman; and plenty of things can appear metallic without actually —”  
  
There was a noticeable CLANG sound then, as the tether — which Roman had already released and put on auto-snap, thanks, because there was _only one way to know, right_ _?_ — attached itself to the bottom of the craft.  
  
“Or,” Roman said, grinning at him. “It’s _definitely_ magnetic, and we can tether to it just fine, so it’s now _spacewalk_ time.”  
  
Logan attempted to give him a dry look, but couldn’t quite keep the smile off his lips. Nor could he really argue. “All right,” he said. “Fair enough.”  
  
They were already partially suited up — standard practice on a trash scoop anyway, due to their very purpose tending to put them closer to piercing range of debris, sure, but Roman frankly wouldn’t have taken any chances anyway in these circumstances — so it was merely a matter of pulling up the rest of the helmet, turning on suit pressurization and oxygen supply, and…

Roman tried not to think of Remus, singing: _three minutes max, three minutes max._  
  
His suit was fine. 

So was the helmet.

It was _fine._  
  
…okay maybe _he_ wasn’t, but _it_ was, damn it.

He reeled the tether in, slowly, carefully, until there was less than a meter or so between where the two of them would exit, and the… airlock, of the other craft.  
  
Even that mere meter was not… fun, for him today. There had been occasions back when he was working the trash scoop duty himself that he had been… okay with it. Where it was _thrilling_ instead of just _nerve-wracking._

Those had gotten a lot fewer by the time he’d quit. 

He hadn’t really missed it.  
  
Thankfully, his reflexes for it were still not too shabby; he glided smoothly into the airlock (somewhat more so than Logan, which he tried to cling to as a small point of pride), which shortly thereafter began to slowly close behind them.  
  
There was a series of _thunks_ as it locked in place and, Roman was guessing, sealed the room in prep for re-pressurization. 

It was funny on some level, he supposed, that _normally_ he’d find that kind of sound comforting. Considering they still had no idea what they were walking into, though, it kind of wasn’t. Because instead of his mind reading it as _back to safety_ , like it usually would, it was reading it, in part, as:  
  
 **_Trapped._ ** **  
**  
There was the sensation of repressurization, of going from _nothing_ to merely _almost nothing_. Maybe some people wouldn’t notice the subtle difference between the two, not from inside a spacesuit anyway, but Roman couldn’t help but pay close attention. It had been conditioned into him at this point.

He flipped up his sunshield, and heard Logan do the same.  
  
Eventually the airlock finished filling; which he could tell, because it then began to _open_ at the other end.  
  
The resulting view was… not what either of them expected, to say the least.  
  
What it _looked like,_ was a pretty ordinary little room — all clean lines and smooth curves and carefully coordinated shades of brown and gold and copper, accented with black in the furniture — that wouldn't have been out of place as say, someone’s living room on a particularly nice space station. 

Which was _very strange,_ because this included the fact that _nothing was floating_. 

Mechanically-induced gravity — or at least, something of an increase in gravitational pull, to offset what would otherwise be micrograv — was not unheard of on larger stations like the _SSF Sanders._ But the gyroscopes and other fiddly bits Roman was less familiar with that were _required to create it_ … there was no _way_ they existed on a craft this size, with so much room left inside of it. Not as far as he knew, anyway.

So… how in the _heck…_?

"What'd they do, glue everything down or something?" Roman muttered, and he was only half joking.

Only half, which is why it fell so utterly flat.  
  
Because there were _papers_ in the corner on an end table — actual paper! — that were _fluttering_ with the opening of the airlock door…  
  
…and gently, but quickly, _falling back down to the table._

Which… given the rate of the fall, implied gravity approximately _on par with SanStat._ Nearly a full _G_. 

Which… should not be possible at this scale. Supposedly. Right?

Logan looked at the room speculatively, and then, to Roman's surprise, reached one gloved hand out into the room.

It immediately dropped several inches; the _rest_ of Logan actually gently shot up the other direction and tried to rotate, and he had to activate the jets to push his lower body back towards the floor again, even and _especially_ after pulling his hand back, which sent him reeling.

Roman suspected he knew why, seeing as it was practically staring him in the face.

But just to be _sure_ he asked:

"…art grav?"

"Art grav," Logan said, his voice quietly awed. Roman didn't need to look at him to know he was sporting that rare, special little smile of his — the one he only got when he saw something really and truly _amazing,_ saw the kind of thing that made others use words like _reverence_ and _transcendent._

He did though. Look at him, that is, if only for a moment. Because that smile was beautiful; because he was pretty sure he never saw Logan happier, more alive, than when he was wearing that particular smile.  
  
Roman of course stuck his own hand forward, too. He, too, felt what _definitely_ seemed like a dang near full G's worth of _pull_ down towards the floor. He, too, had to apply jets to keep himself from pitching forward. 

"That," he said, grinning as he pulled back his hand. "Is _really_ cool."

"Yes," Logan said, and Roman was certain he was not imagining the sheer happiness, the _excitement_ even, in his voice because he was feeling something very similar, he suspected. "Yes, it is." 

Logan turned to him, meeting his eyes, and a moment of silent conversation occurred where both of them, simultaneously, _internally squealed_ like small, delighted children… and also attempted not to _outwardly_ bubble over like a roughly shaken soda. To actually, you know, maintain some semblance of decorum and some illusion at least that they were _Actual Adults, here, from An Intelligent and Perfectly Capable Species, Yes Sir, Ma'am Or Nonbinary Interstellar Fam!_

Roman grinned at him, and gestured toward the room with both hands (held close to his body to avoid the pull, thanks; who in their right mind would want to ruin their first impression by chucking themselves ass over teakettle? Nobody, that's who).

"After you… _Doctor,_ " he said, because it seemed rather appropriate to use his formal title, under the circumstances.

Logan seemed to appreciate that, because as he gave a nod of acknowledgement, his own answering grin seemed almost wide enough to strain a muscle. 

As Roman watched, he then schooled his face (with a lot less of his usual success) into something less giddy, took a slow, deep breath, and jetted himself gently forward.

He landed on the smooth floor with a notable _thunk_ , and skidded slightly, having to stick out both arms to compensate and regain his balance despite retaining some of his forward momentum. It took him a moment to recover, and he was very, very still for a moment.

Which was normal, Roman knew, for someone going through a micro-to-not-micro kind of gravity situation. He wasn't necessarily looking forward to it, as he always got a little queasy from the shift, himself, but he still jetted forward and got it over with. 

" _No lo puedo creeeeer_ ," he squeal-whispered, unable to resist reacting at least _one_ more time, so excited his hands even briefly fluttered, even with the extra weight of the suit on. “So neat. Oh my God.”

Roman barely had any time to get a better look at things, and therefore barely enough time to even notice the trio of doors on the wall opposite the one to the airlock before —

—before there was a _clunk_ , and the middle one opened, smoothly collapsing against its frame in both directions, like a bisected accordion. 

It led, apparently, to a dimly-lit hallway, which led even further into the ship.

There was a bipedal figure standing in said hallway.

They were… human- _oid,_ he thought? But unfortunately, also _backlit,_ so Roman could not make out their face. The shape of their head seemed off, somehow, though. Something about the silhouette jutting out where it should not be…

Roman swallowed, and was just debating whether or not to grab Logan’s hand, or stand in front of him, or maybe just _not make any sudden moves_ , when the figure… spoke.

“ _Hola_ and hello, gentlemen,” they said, their voice a smooth, smug tenor. _“¿Qué pasa?”_ _  
_  
_“ …_ _b-bien?”_ Roman tried, because well, what else was he supposed to say to that?

"You… speak Spanish," Logan said, a note of understandable suspicion and confusion in his tone. “And English?”

"Congratulations, Doctor Sinclair!” said the Stranger as they stepped out into the room, which really freaked Roman out a little, honestly, because _how did they already know his name?_ “You can observe the obvious. _¡Sí, hablo Español!_ I also speak a lot of _other_ languages. I'll admit my Russian is _atrocious_ , but my French, Italian, Mandarin —"  
  
Now that they were in the light, Roman could get a better look at them. And… wow. Okay, yeah, granted the clothing (a black and yellow, full-body jumpsuit that looked like it could likely double as a spacesuit) wasn’t in a style he was familiar with, but that meant very little, and they were still… _very much_ “human-shaped”.  
  
They were also… remarkably unremarkable, if one went by those standards. 

He _tried_ to come up with some way to describe the individual that would be memorable (if only for his mental memoir notes), but all he could think of that would be accurate was:  
  
A face that was generically attractive without being particularly striking; an ambiguous light tan complexion that wouldn’t be out of place in most places on Earth let alone SanStat; and… blandly, _boringly_ brown hair and eyes. Even the hair cut wasn’t anything to write home about, from what he could tell: short and plain, with a faint sweep of bangs brushed back from the face. Plop them almost anywhere on Earth or anywhere in Earth's space-based facilities, and they wouldn’t look out terribly out of place.  
  
That said, there was one detail that threw him for a loop:  
  
They were wearing what looked like a… _bowler hat?  
_  
At least that explained the weird silhouette of the head. But for some reason that detail alone briefly left Roman speechless, because… _what?_

"You're… human?" Logan said cautiously, and (again: understandably, thought Roman) also confusedly and perhaps a _little_ sulkily.

Their mysterious guest — or, Roman supposed, their host, really — narrowed their eyes at Logan 

"Does this ship _seem_ like a _human_ -made ship with _human_ -made technology to you, Doctor?"

"While… that is true, and highly intriguing,” Logan, inexplicably, chose to say. “That does not technically mean it is being _used_ by someone who isn't human. You certainly… _appear_ human."

Given like the guy looked like someone you’d cast as “random background extra #42”, Roman had to kind of agree on that front.

The Stranger rolled their eyes a little. "Well. _Someone's_ never seen or read _Contact_ …" they said. 

And then, it _clicked_.  
  
At least for Roman, it did.

"Ohhh!" he said, gasping with the appropriate amount of Drama. "You mean to say — wait." 

No, _wait._ That just begged more questions, didn’t it? He frowned, looking the… man's? Person’s? Body up and down, somewhat suspiciously. "What… exactly _are_ you, then?”

As soon as that _atrocity_ left his mouth he wanted to chuck himself back out the airlock, possibly sans helmet. 

_Crap!_ he realized. _Great job, Princey! Just ask the single rudest question you could possibly ask even a_ **_human_** _, that’ll go over_ **_great_** _, right? Course correct, course correct! ASAP!_ “Er… pardon my phrasing, of course — sorry, that was probably really rude, wasn't it?"

He did his best to shoot a charming smile in the stranger’s direction, but ugh, he couldn’t even look the — person, in the face after that kind of blatant faux pas. 

So he looked over to Logan.

…in time to see Logan blink and glance over at _him_ , perplexed.

Him. Roman. He, who was a lot more versed in _pop culture_ than Logan was, sometimes even in vintage science fiction. 

Oh. Right. 

They obviously needed to get on the same page here, ASAP, he thought, and clarified: "If I'm picking up what they’re putting down —" 

— at which point, never mind the Apparent Space Alien in the room, he recalled _who from his family he was speaking to,_ either, and amended the statement. "— that is, if I'm understanding our, ah…" 

He glanced at the man-shaped… whatever that was? "Host?” Host sounded neutral enough, right? “Correctly? Then this —" 

He gestured at the relevant… individual. " _This,_ is merely a – a form they’ve adopted. In order to interact with us! Likely different from… whatever their default is?" He glanced over, hopefully.

 _"¡Exactamente, su Alteza!"_ their… Mystery Entity, said and that was _definitely_ a smirk right there, Roman thought. How smug _was_ this person? "Good catch! Gold star, that's exactly right."

(Also — god this was going to distract him; referring to him as ‘your Highness’? Really? Was that supposed to be sarcastic, or an attempt at an actual, presumed title or something? Did this mean… they knew about the _nickname,_ because Roman was pretty sure it meant they knew on some level about the nickname, which meant Mystery They knew exactly who they _both_ were — _no, focus, Roman, FOCUS!_ ) 

"So… robot?" he asked, tentatively. "Or — hard light something? Or…?"

"Oh, no, none of that," Mystery They said, waving one hand dismissively. "I'm simply what you would refer to — in English, at least — as a 'shapeshifter'." 

Roman was very glad later that he looked again in Logan’s direction at that, because he did so in time to see Logan blink in surprise; he relished the moment. One of the precious few cases of Logan being caught not knowing something, because that was frankly fairly _rare_ on things not pop culture related these days. Seeing his mouth start to _gape_ like that without having to see one of Remus’ more disgusting pranks? That was glorious indeed.

"I — really?" Logan said, apparently at a loss for much else to say, which — well, understandable. 

Their Mystery Person grinned then, and Roman knew they were probably either about to die, or see something _really neat_. 

Thankfully it was the latter. 

The Stranger leaned Their head and upper body slightly towards Logan, tilted it a little, and —

— and then, between _one blink_ and the next, the left eye (and, _puta madre,_ **_only_ ** _the left eye!?_ How!?) had _changed_. 

Completely, in fact; turned from a perfectly ordinary, human-looking brown eye, with a normal, human-looking round pupil, to… this, this vividly _lupine_ sort of yellow, the pupil itself even changing from round to a cat-like _slit._

There was a slight rustling, almost crackling sound, but uncomfortably squelchier — and then before their very eyes, the cheek on the same side of his face _rippled,_ and sprouted a scattering of iridescent scales, in a soft, golden-bronze hue that subtly contrasted with the tones of the human-looking skin still immediately next to it. The scales shimmered in the light from the overhead fixtures. 

"You tell me," they said, sounding quite amused, and — well could Roman really blame them here? No, he couldn’t; that was an A+ dramatic reveal right there. _Ten out of ten,_ he thought, with the giddy, confused sort of joy of one who has just seen the _whole universe_ start to open before his eyes. 

Assuming he lived to write it, _that_ moment was _definitely_ going in his memoir, he decided.

…so, of course, Logan had to go and ruin it with his reaction.

Which was, apparently, to slowly close his mouth, tilt his head speculatively to get a better look at the scales, and say: 

"…huh."

Apparently their newly be-scaled host was on the same page as Roman (and possibly not even the same _book_ as Logan), because their forehead creased in clear consternation. 

" _Excuse me?_ ” they said, and oh dear, that was some (admittedly justified, Roman thought!) sheer _indignity_ right there. “'Huh'!? That's _it?_ I literally changed an entire section of skin to a completely different type, texture _and_ color within seconds, and an entire, _singular, individual eye, including pupil, and independently of the other eye I might add,_ all within a _fraction_ of a second! And all I get is a ' _huh'! ?”_

They splayed their hands out to either side, palms up, in what Roman could only describe as a gesture of absolute exasperation. 

“Are you _kidding_ me? Even by the literally _highest standards in the galaxy,_ that was _extremely_ skilled shifting, thank-you-very-much! I should think it deserves a _little_ more than a simple —” And here, they flailed one hand despairingly. “'Huh',” they said, mimicking Logan’s action right down to the body position. “ — and a mere _tilt_ of the head!"

"Er… apologies?" Logan said, clearly picking up on having insulted their host and rightfully unnerved by the… strong, reaction. "I did not — mean to offend, or — it _was_ impressive, certainly, I'm merely, ah — I was simply distracted, trying to figure out _how_ you could do such a thing.”

Mystery Host stared at him in what Roman interpreted as ‘quietly insulted astonishment’. 

“For instance,” Logan started, and oh no, Roman knew _that_ tone, and that talking speed, all too well. “I assume there are chromatophores in your skin, obviously, or something akin to them, but did you just consciously change the _density_ of it as well? Does your eye have a _default_ pupil shape, and if so, is it the round or slitted shape, or another shape entire—" 

_Yep. Called it,_ Roman thought, and took mercy on him.

"Ah," he cut in, patting Logan's shoulder and glancing back and forth between him and their newly-made acquaintance. "Uh, yeah, sorry, he's — _mi primo_ here is a, uh. As we call it, 'huge nerd', so — I honestly don't know what I expected, he does this all the time when I show him cool stuff, there was this magician — illusionist, er, someone who —"

Mystery Alien held up a hand, rolling their eyes again. "I _know_ what a 'magician' or 'illusionist' is, Señor Reyes, I've only been studying your planet of origin's cultures for literal decades and all. Which means I think I can predict where that story is going to go, so let's cut to the chase, shall we?"

"Chase?" Logan blurted out, clearly disconcerted, and _oh no,_ Roman thought. _He's going to do the Thing, isn't he? I_ **_knew_ ** _I should have added that one to the flash cards sooner_ — 

Yup. Sure enough…

"What — who or what is — being chased?" 

"What?" their host replied, staring at him, aghast, in a look Roman was by then well used to seeing on people dealing with Logan's particular linguistic blinders for the first time. "What are you — no! Nobody is — that's just an expression! From your _own_ — I thought you were supposed to be a _native speaker_ of English!? That's what the records said —"

"He is," Roman interjected. "He just — he's bad with, um, non… literal language, in conversation? Tends to assume people will be literal, _first_ , so like… metaphors and figures of speech, like, you kinda have to point out that's what you're using? Or —"

Their host groaned, gaze now towards the ceiling, as if asking an overhead deity for the divine gift of patience. 

"Seriously? That's no fun! I've learned all these nifty little idioms, and now you're telling me I have to stick a – a _proverbial,_ neon sign on every single one, or he's not going to get it!? Whatever happened to linguistic subtlety?"

Wow. Roman didn’t know until that moment that you could make a perfectly neutral word like _proverbial_ sound so distasteful without being Remus.

"I — that's not — entirely," Logan stammered, and… 

…and look, Logan could be a little smug sometimes. And Roman may have had some issues with him sometimes, like any pair of people who grew up together stuck in the same family, but _this was still his primo._ This was his still first cousin, still the nerd he grew up with, the PhDork who was like a brother to him (and, frankly, less embarrassing than his actual, literal brother, either). 

So, sue him. He couldn’t resist coming to his defense a little. 

"Hey, go easy on him," he started, before getting on an… _unfortunate_ roll. 

"He's brilliant! Incredibly brilliant! Look at the messages we've been exchanging — all that — being able to describe whole worlds and locations and coordinates all without ever using an actual _word_ , just pure math? Just blips and bleeps like some kinda mathy Morse code, I mean, I couldn't have done that on my own in a million years, but he figured it out in less than a day!”

…which might have been fine, in hindsight, if he hadn’t then continued and ultimately said:  
  
“And for _your information,_ Mr. Apparently-alien, he can _understand_ idioms and metaphors and figures of speech just fine! He reads poetry for fun! He _analyzes_ it for fun! It’s just that, in _conversation,_ in anything other than something _presented_ as a poem, he _defaults_ to the literal. You can still use absolutely _all_ of those things, you just gotta point it out so he knows to like, bother to translate it in his head, so you know what, there's no need to get so _pissy_ about it!"

…oh.

Oh dear.

It unfortunately occurred to him only _after_ he said all that, that… that might not have been the _best_ way to talk to what was apparently the first representative from a clearly _way more advanced_ species. 

Especially when you were still standing in their ship.

In outer space.

_Next to the airlock._

He had just enough time to wonder whether he had _only_ just started an interstellar political tiff and wasted the chance of a goddamn lifetime, or actually gotten one or both of them potentially jettisoned away from _where their ship was tethered,_ when…

An unexpected sound rang out through the ship.

Specifically: a strange, musical sort of… _giggle_ _?_ Maybe? That came from not even _one_ of the three people already in the room, and seemed to _echo_ around the hallway behind where Snobby Alien Mystery Jerk had made their grand entrance.

Said Snobby Alien _froze_.

Then, to Roman’s surprise, they… sighed.

“ _Darling_ ,” they said, in a tone that somehow managed to mix dry resignation with the kind of clearly false cheer that just _screamed_ ‘sheer irritation’. “ _What, precisely,_ did I say about staying _quiet_ and _hidden,_ hm?” 

There was a short, awkward pause.

Then, a lower, somewhat huskier and considerably more sheepish-sounding voice muttered: 

“…sorry…” 

Alien Number One sighed again, rolled their eyes a little, and stepped just far enough to one side that they could have one side of their body facing Roman and Logan and the other facing the hallway. The eye the two of them could actually see seemed to look directly at Roman and then Logan, before they said:

“I suppose at _this_ juncture it’d be pointless to hide you. You may as well come out. Stay _close,_ though. And remember what _else_ we talked about, earlier, please.”

“Okay…” came the still-sheepish reply, before another human-looking person, wearing an outfit of similar design but slightly different coloring, appeared from the shadows of an apparently open doorway just down the hall.  
  
They slowly, silently, and with a great deal of chagrin, walked the short distance to the end of the hallway, stopping at just before the doorframe. 

He had wondered if this newest arrival to their little soiree would look like the other one — whom Roman was guessing had chosen their appearance _for_ its neutrality — but they didn’t, not quite. Like the other one, they did have a vaguely androgynous appearance, but they also had darker hair and eyes, more voluminous lashes, and a face whose bone structure was more striking, prettier even, he thought, than Alien Number One’s. Their slightly-longer hair swept down over their eyes in the front, their posture was timid to the point of nervous, and he thought to himself that they looked as if they were trying to hide behind that hair like a tiny veil. 

They hesitantly brought one purple-gloved hand up, and wiggled the fingers in what was probably intended to be some sort of wave. 

Poor thing looked like they wanted to crawl right out of their own skin, Roman thought, and gave them what he hoped was a soothing sort of smile. 

“Hi,” he said. 

“…hi,” they murmured back. 

There was then a long moment of silence.

…Roman did not like silence, when it happened around other people. It was _unnerving_ to him, _agony_ even, if it stretched long enough — like the old ‘water torture’, except with uncertainty instead of liquids. 

So, rather than let it sit awkwardly like that, he broke it, clearing his throat and smiling in what was hopefully an encouraging sort of way, and attempting to make possibly the worst small talk in interstellar history:

“So… they uh,” he pointed to Mr. Bowler Hat. “They called you ‘darling’ — are you like their um, mate… or… something…?” His voice pitched higher as the sentence concluded, as he realized how _invasively_ _weird_ that question probably was and yet, somehow still couldn’t stop himself from finishing the sentence in a vain effort to rescue it from rudeness. 

Bowler Hat Alien scrunched their nose in apparent distaste. _“What!?”_ they said, their tone distinctly offended. “No!”

“Ah… haaa, n-no…?” the other one said, ducking their head, apparently embarrassed. Oops?  
  
But before he could figure out how to apologize for his mistake, all thoughts of his own faux pas escaped him, as Purple Gloves softly, shyly, made a whole other _incredibly_ _startling_ statement:  
  
“I’m, uh… kinda more… supposed to be… his?”

…and then pointed to Logan.  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SPANISH TRANSLATIONS:
> 
> * _"No lo puedo creeeeer"_ = "I can't BELIEVE iiiit!!!!" 
> 
> * _¡Exactamente, su Alteza!_ = "Exactly, your Highness!" (yes, Janus is making sarcastic reference to the "Prince" nickname)
> 
> * _puta madre_ = literally something like "f---ing mother" ("puta/puto" is an obscenity in its own right, used to refer to "whores"/"f---ers" in general), but basically a somewhat profane exclamation equivalent in use to "holy shit" (normally Roman would have more class than to use that, but can you blame him for being startled here? lol)
> 
> IN OUR NEXT CHAPTER:
> 
> "The Proposal"
> 
> or, 
> 
> The aliens have a proposal for Logan.
> 
> ...in more than one sense of the word, as it turns out.


	4. The Proposal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aliens have a proposal for Logan.
> 
> ...in more than one sense of the word, as it turns out.

Roman glanced over at Logan, who was now displaying what Roman could only describe as the facial equivalent of a 404 error. He kinda didn’t blame him.  
  
"Did – I'm sorry, am I – being propositioned?" Logan said, with admirable levels of calm, because granted, there were definitely people (Roman had no doubt his brother was one of them) who would jump at the chance to jump the bones (...did they even have bones?) of an alien, but he kinda didn’t figure Logan to be one of them. He wasn’t even sure if Logan had had a, er, partner before even among humans.

(He’d never asked and he planned to keep it that way, frankly)

Purple Gloves went to open their mouth to reply and Bowler Hat cut them right off, jumping back into the conversation with:  
  
"NO! No! Wrong – _wrong 'p' word!_ "

Purple Gloves looked at Bowler Hat and blinked, frowning. "It is?"

They were given a Look that Roman wasn’t sure he could quite decipher, despite the still-mostly-human shape of Bowler Hat’s face. "The _term_ you're thinking of, is ‘a _proposal’._ "

Bowler Hat turned back to them. "What Virgil here _means_ to say –"

Roman, caught off guard by that, blurted out: "Wait – _Virgil_ ? Did you – is that really your name? _'Virgil_ '?"

Purple Gl– er, ‘Virgil’, looked suddenly self-conscious, which made Roman feel a little guilty.  
  
"...w-why? What's wrong with that name?"

The other alien irritably cut in with: "NOTHING is wrong with it, it's a perfectly good name!"

"Oh! I – no, I didn't mean...” Oh heck, he really had done _that_ , he thought. He’d ticked off one of them and upset the other, all because he was surprised at a name that sounded like a name. Great. This First Contact was going fantastic. “I was just surprised, is all, honest! See, it's a name on Earth, too, so –"

Virgil – Roman made the mental effort to commit that to memory _, Virgil Virgil Virgil VIRGIL_ – smiled, and it was... kind of cute, honestly? Something like a shy grin. "Oh, okay. Well, that's fine then; it’s kinda deliberate, actually? We like to pick names for the people we interact with to use that they can actually, you know, pronounce."

Roman, who spoke (depending on how you defined it) either two or three different languages fluently, and could pronounce and curse in several others, and had _never_ mispronounced a given name more than once per name, if that, in his _entire life,_ was mildly offended at that assumption.  
  
"You don’t have to do that! I could learn to pronounce it! I'm _very_ good at languages, and I always make an effort to – what's so funny?"

Alien Jerk (Roman had decided that absent a name, he was back to calling Bowler Hat that in his head) was chuckling, loudly. "Oh, I'm sure you are, dear Prince,” they said smugly. “But I do believe even the most linguistically adept of human polyglots _probably_ still doesn't have two independent _sets_ of vocal cords. Which would be required, for the record, to pronounce _either_ of our original names, in the original language."

"...oh," he said, because what else was he supposed to say to that? 

"That... would certainly pose a problem, yes," Logan said then, prompting an apparently amused reaction from each of the aliens, and dang it, thought Roman, he could have said something like _that,_ couldn’t he? Instead _Logan_ got to be dryly witty and apparently smooth things over. And judging from his tone of voice and expression (which, granted, many people had trouble reading but Roman was pretty used to it, and generally could) he probably hadn’t even been _trying_ to be! How utterly unfair.

“On that note,” Bowler Hat said, and then promptly negated the need for further mental nicknames. “You may call me _Janus_. Spelled J-A-N-U-S, if you’re using the roman alphabet, please; it’s pulled from Latin. He/him or they/them or honestly any pronouns for both of us, by the way; I don’t really care, and Virgil’s indicated the same.”

Roman, who absolutely had gone through a period as a teen of binging everything related to the ancient people who shared his name, nodded in acknowledgement but raised a brow. “Gotcha. Also… like the deity, Janus? Ancient Roman god of doorways?”

‘Janus’ tilted his head primly, and gave him what he was pretty sure was a pleased (if entirely too self-satisfied) look. “Yes, actually. Also of _transitions_. And beginning and endings, foresight and hindsight. I thought it to be rather appropriate, given I’m the one who spent a few decades researching your people – peoples, really – and made the call on whether First Contact should be made, and when.” 

“Neat,” Roman said, both because it seemed polite and also because as a writer he could respect anybody who chose a name with that much thought put into it. 

“Thank you,” Janus said, or practically purred, really, and you know what, maybe it was the eye or something, but it occurred to Roman it was kind of funny how someone who still had _scales_ across one side of their face, could remind him so strongly of a _cat_. 

Maybe it was also just the snooty, snobbish superiority vibe, though. If you had asked Roman, the expression Janus was wearing currently could be pretty easily put into words that ended with the phrase _‘ate the canary’._

“Right, so,” Virgil said. “I’m… sure you want to know more about us, yes? Our people, why we’re here, all that?” 

“Of course,” Logan said, tilting his head in acknowledgement. “Whatever you wish to share, certainly.”

Virgil smiled at him, and began to explain, in clear and careful words occasionally interrupted by Janus adding his own… _notes_. 

He had started with how they could call Janus and Virgil’s people _the Tomasi._

To which Janus had added: 

“We made it easy for you on that one, by the way, I made sure of that. No conjugation or declension or anything like that, functions as the singular, the plural, an adjective and a noun, and _even if_ the first or third syllable get pronounced a little differently from dialect variation, it won’t come out even close to anything offensive in our own languages, or, from what I can tell, most of the common ones of yours either.” 

Then, Janus had – rather snippily, Roman thought – further added: 

“You’re _welcome_ for that, coincidentally, because it wasn’t _easy,_ you’ve got an almost ridiculous number of languages with a _huge_ amount of variation, and I say this as a _linguist_. Not that it isn’t fascinating and all, but _cripes_ does it make translation difficult when you don’t even have just _one_ lingua franca or trade language, you’ve somehow got _several_ , some of which are _completely_ unrelated to the extent that perfectly innocent things in one of them can become offensive or nonsensical in another. Which: admittedly hilarious at times, but it’s such a verbal _madhouse_ down there, I have no idea how your international trade manages to function as smoothly as it does.”  
  
...at which Virgil in turn had frowned, and given Janus a clearly Disapproving look, and said, “Don’t insult their _languages_ , Janus. Pretty sure that’s _rude_.”

“How is it rude when they do it themselves all the time?” Janus said gesturing toward them with one vigorous, open palm. “They have entire forms of comedy centered around translation mishaps or bilingual puns! _They_ know what I’m talking about.”

Virgil gave Janus what Roman interpreted as a dry, skeptical sort of look, and then turned both to them, looking more apologetic. “Sorry,” they said. “He’s just really cranky today…”

Virgil then turned their gaze _pointedly_ toward Janus, and – okay, there was no other word for it: _smirked_. 

“...because he’s bad at math.”

There was a sharp intake of breath from Janus, who shot Virgil such a dirty look it had probably just come out of a mud bath. 

Yes, Virgil was _definitely_ smirking, Roman decided as they turned back to them, telling the two of them, in a conspiratorial sort of tone: “He didn’t expect to get so much of it _back_ in such a short time, especially if it wasn’t just a list of primes or something – ”

“Because _most_ cultures don’t jump _straight to_ ‘here’s the value of pi; oh, yes, and a _context-less description of all the major celestial bodies in the system_ – ” Janus burst out.

“I still don’t know what you’re complaining about a lack of context for,” Virgil said, shrugging. “I mean, they started with pi because it’s something that would be universal – ”

“Right, because that totally is the same as ‘here’s pi, and oh _also!_ _here’s a calculation for volumes of giant round things that take like an hour to decipher’_ –”

“It took me _half_ that, tops.”  
  
“– take _way too long_ to decipher,” Janus said, shooting Virgil another glare. “And still required a bunch of _other_ calculations to make sense of –”

Virgil shook their head, barely suppressing a grin. “If by ‘required a bunch of other calculations to make sense of’, you mean ‘we were sent the same basic equation with different values, in the order of the central star and major planets in the system, making it _clear by implication_ what they were describing, considering _we aimed communications at something in their system_ ,’” they said. “Then sure.” 

“Exactly, though!” Janus said, both palms out. “Are you kidding me!? Clearly we knew where we were _aiming_ with it, so why _bother!?_ _Most_ people just go with a friendly ‘hello’ in one or more of the languages they happen to speak at that point, thanks!”

Logan, Roman realized, himself looked confused and faintly disapproving. “If you didn’t want to receive math back, then why did you start with a list of primes? You’re clearly fluent in several of our languages – ”

“It’s the _universal standard practice!”_ Janus said, shooting Logan a glare this time. “For good reason! How could I possibly know for sure who would be picking up and _exactly_ what language they prefer, hm? What, did you expect me to just send a ‘hello’ in _all several thousand of your people’s languages!?_ In what order, pray tell, should I have done that and exactly how many weeks should I have devoted to recording it, hm?”  
  
“I mean… being fair,” Roman said. “The Station only uses like, 4 _official_ languages?”  
  
“Oh, yes!” Janus said, turning his ire on Roman. “Sure! Let’s just – insult several other groups because I put someone else’s language first or just flat out ignored theirs! That would go _great!”_

Roman blinked. “Seriously? I… think you’re overthinking that a little.”  
  
“You _say that,_ but – ” 

Virgil stepped closer, and gave Janus’ shoulder a gentle, sympathetic sort of pat. He cut off with a soft huff, crossing his arms in a distinctly defensive-looking position.

Virgil gave Roman and Logan a rueful look. “He actually has good reason for worrying about that. There was this one system – ”

Janus groaned, and put his hand over his face, rubbing the unscaled side. “Don’t even remind me! Stupidest diplomatic nightmare _ever_.”

“Anyway,” Virgil said. “You sent it all so quickly he couldn’t quite keep up with it, and so I had to take over for a while. I think he’s still… frost… froo...? Ugh, Janus, what’s the word I’m thinking of?”  
  
_“Frustrated,”_ Janus ground out, and Roman certainly believed it.

He saw Virgil quietly mouth the word to themself a couple of times, and nod. “Yeah, that. Anyway, so… wait, where was I again? I mean – specifically, in the explanations,” they said, clearly recalling Janus’ earlier idiomatic difficulties, since they were looking right at Logan now. 

That turned out to be pretty valid. _Roman_ actually couldn’t remember, as they’d tangented on languages and math so long, but _Logan_ apparently was taking very precise mental notes.  
  
“You asked us to refer to your people as the Tomasi,” he said. “And Janus clarified how to use the term, namely that it functions as singular, plural, adjective, and noun.”

Janus blinked. “Seriously? Is that as far as we actually got?”

Virgil shot him a look as dry as the Sahara.

“Well, we _would_ have gotten farther – further? – _more into_ other things, if _somebody_ hadn’t decided to rant about languages for like, five whole minutes. _Anyway,_ ” they said, turning away from (a somewhat indignant) Janus and back to them. “Let’s get back on the original subject, yeah?”

Then (much to Logan’s delight and _flagrant_ curiosity, Roman noticed) they told them that the Tomasi were the first to develop the long-distance travel applications of what they called ‘slipspace’ technology – the same tech, sort of, that Logan was experimenting with to cut long-distance radio latency. 

Or, more _specifically_ they emphasized, the _safe and stable_ versions of the long-distance slipspace travel tech, because – 

Virgil had paused to ask Logan a question. “You’re the same Logan Sinclair who co-authored that paper about this stuff last year, right? The stabilization techniques?”

Like any academic being told someone has actually read their paper, Logan perked up at this immediately.

"I – yes! You're familiar with it?" 

"Mmhm! Brilliant work, you're actually ahead of the average development time on this stuff, you know. And you're _so_ right to be wary of trying it on larger scales – your intuition that um, that you'd 'need to be cautious before assuming the same techniques would apply'? That's... accurate.”  
  
“Understatement,” Janus muttered.  
  
“Yeah. The same techniques _don't,_ uh. Work… very safely, at larger sizes,” Virgil said. “Especially when transmitting more than just raw data, and _really_ especially when allowing living, organic matter through. There are ways around it and ways to compensate, but – "

"But,” Janus drawled. “Those techniques tend to take up to a few dozen or more unexpectedly _lethal_ tries for most cultures to figure out on their own, so..."

As Janus trailed off, Virgil picked up where he had left off. "So we, uh. Prefer to help people to… avoid that issue. You know? I mean, space is dangerous enough without getting simultaneously torn apart and _swished_ by an unstable wormhole – "

Janus snorted.

Virgil shot him a wary look. "What. What'd I say wrong in _that?"_

"I believe you mean 'squished', dear. Since I’m pretty sure you mean – " Janus then slapped his hands together in front of his chest in a sudden and oddly _vicious_ CLAP! that startled everyone in the room. “And not… what you said. Which unless it’s _slang_ for something somewhere, may not even make coherent sense. And come to think of it, if it did, would _probably_ be a lot less violent and _hypothetically_ a lot more fun.”

"I – look, I'm still learning, okay! Give me a break, _I'm_ not the one who's supposed to be a linguist, _you_ are," Virgil said, and Roman could _swear_ their face looked a little purplish for a moment. 

"And a very cunning one I am, of course," Janus said, nodding sagely and giving Roman (specifically Roman, he noticed) a genial and _entirely_ too smugly ‘innocent’ look to _not_ know _exactly_ what he had just said. "Very good with slang and idioms. Even in this Frankenstein _bastard_ of a language you call English."

Logan, frowning, asked: "Do you mean 'Frankenstein's monster', perhaps?"

Janus snorted again. "Oh, I know _exactly_ what I meant and I meant exactly what I said, Dr. Sinclair. Don't get me wrong, I _adore_ your language,” he said, putting a hand to his chest in a way that told Roman there was at least a 50% chance of his being sarcastic, there. “I just also know it's got a habit of mugging other languages in dark alleys and rifling around in their pockets for spare vocabulary."

There was a pause, wherein something seemed to occur to him, and Janus sighed. " _Which,_ is a metaphor –"

"I'm aware," Logan said dryly. "I've seen the quote before. I tend to be _literal_ , not _illiterate._ "

"...well. You're just _full_ of fun surprises today, aren't you, Dr. Sinclair," Janus muttered flatly, and Roman thought to himself that he sounded about as done as a burnt steak.

“Okay! Anyway,” Virgil said, taking another step forward and gesturing vaguely with both hands. “ _Point is_ , when our people find what seems to be a civilization of people potentially approaching the discovery of slipspace technology, we tend to keep an eye on it. If they get close to figuring it out, we check in on them. If we think they might be about to _hurt_ themselves with it, we step in to prevent that. And if they seem like we could maybe get along well with them, long term? Well – we, um.”  
  
Virgil glanced at Janus, as if suddenly nervous, cleared their throat, and turned back to Roman and Logan. “We prefer – if it’s amenable, that is, of course, um – to uh. Forge… an alliance, of sorts?”  
  
Janus spoke up again then, calmly stating: 

“What Virgil is _attempting_ to convey is this: at this point in our history, we Tomasi are a generally _peaceful_ culture, and _happily thrive_ as such, owing to our level of advancement and the wealth of resources that actually exist in the universe if you can get to them, which we generally _can_. We have found over time that with other social species, especially, it typically benefits _everyone involved,_ to be at _peace_ with each other, to engage in organized trade, and cultural exchange and... you know, all that sort of thing,” he said, waving one hand as if shooing a fly. “We _prefer,_ in other words, to make friends – or family, would be the more accurate translation – rather than to make war.”  
  
Why would he make such a point of that, Roman wondered, his mind oddly snagging on that little idiomatic difference. _Make family?_ What was that even supposed to –

“To that end,” Janus continued. “We would _like_ to extend a formal invitation to form what you might call a… political alliance, with you and your… well, you don’t have a singular world government, so basically your _particular_ sovereign nation in this case, but _symbolically,_ your species as a whole, really.”

...and then it occurred to Roman there might be a _reason_ for that wording. That maybe it _wasn’t_ just an idiom. A reason related to how this whole conversation started in the first place –  
  
“We’ve formed a number of such long-term alliances _very_ successfully with other peoples, which we typically solidify with –”

"Wait. **_Wait_** , is this an _actual_ proposal?” Roman blurted. “I mean, like, a _proposal_ proposal!? A _marriage_ proposal!?"

"Well… sort of?" Virgil said, shrinking back a little at the admittedly loud outburst.

"You… you want my cousin to agree to an arranged marriage!?” Roman said, agape. “You just _met!"_

Janus raised an eyebrow at him. "And you don't think it's a little awkward for _Virgil_ here to travel halfway across the galaxy to potentially marry someone _he's_ just met? Really? Bit hypocritical, don’t you think?" 

"It's _standard,”_ Virgil cut in, leaning further in between them. “Both for our culture, and _many others_."   
  
Virgil was giving Janus a pointed look, hands raised slightly now almost as if they – he? Janus was using ‘he’ for Virgil, so in his own head, Roman supposed he could too? – was concerned for a moment that he’d have to separate the two of them. 

Both Virgil’s expression and his tone softened as he turned to Roman. "I would _never... force_ your cousin to accept. Ever. That's not what this is,” he said, shaking his head. “That's not the way we – the Tomasi – _work_. It's just... an offer. A high honor for any of _us_ , and meant to be one for any who accept it, either. An offer made in _good faith,_ to help solidify the peaceful alliance we wish to form with your people."

He turned, to face Logan, and added, somehow even more softly: 

"Dr. Sinclair… as I said, you are not _obligated_ to accept that part of it. Of _course_ you aren’t. But –”  
  
He glanced down and then back up again, his hands meeting together and fidgeting in front of him for a moment, his expression both gentle and hopeful. “If… you _do_ accept it?”  
  
He took a breath, and then…  
  
Then, he said the words that would turn out to change _everything_.

“You would gain _so_ _much_ , Dr. Sinclair,” he began, his voice barely above a whisper and yet somehow _resonant,_ clear and potent in the quietness of the room.  
  
“You would gain all the benefits of being part of a Tomasi clan – as would your family,” he said, nodding at Roman. “And even any friends that you wish to include.”  
  
“It would mean,” he said, looking up, straight into Logan’s eyes. “That you could freely visit just about any Tomasi ship, station or colony, even gain an _education_ from us – which…”  
  
He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and opened them again.   
  
“Dr. Sinclair, we have seen more cultures, more _worlds_ and _species_ , more _things_ in this galaxy or even Local Group, than any other people we know of. We – and everyone allied with us – trade with more peoples and in more places than _anybody else_.”

He stepped forward, closer to Logan.  
  
“Which means,” he said, his voice gaining a certain _urgency_. “We _travel_ to the most _places_. Dr. Sinclair, you could go - go to _anywhere_ in the _galaxy_ that’s safe to land in or move through. You – anybody you wish, essentially – would have access to – to…”

He blinked. Swallowed, took another breath, and almost seemed, for a moment, like he wanted to reach out to Logan, before carefully pulling his hands back his own chest.  
  
“You… Dr. Sinclair, _you_ could be _visiting_ places in the stars that you would not get even _data_ from in your _lifetime_ otherwise,” he said finally. “You could see – black holes from the closest safe distance, supernovas as they _happen!_ A binary star as – as more than bright, blurry dots in a telescope or chemical spectrum data on a screen but as a _visitor_ to a world that _orbits_ one, to see a pair of stars in the sky of a world you’d be the first from your own to ever _step_ on.”

Virgil ducked his head then, shyly, and added, far more quietly:

“And... even if _none_ of _that_ interested you. Even if you... disliked the idea of travel, if you had no interest in trading with worlds you can’t even imagine or no interest in black holes and supernovas there's – there’s still…”  
  
He took a breath, and looked up again, his softly hopeful, imploring gaze meeting Logan’s own.  
  
“You, Dr. Sinclair. You, and your _people_ , would have access – free and _open_ access – to such _knowledge_. To labs and teachers of some of the most _advanced_ biological and especially medical sciences, of the most _advanced_ knowledge of physics, of chemistry, of – _engineering,_ especially, Dr. Sinclair, including the best and _safest_ slipspace technology in the entire _galaxy_.”

Roman… had to admit, that was a hell of a proposal, let alone as a _Proposal_. The sheer breadth of what Virgil had described – the mere idea of being able to witness such things, visit such places – made _him_ kind of intrigued, and he wasn’t half as much of a science let alone _space_ nerd as Logan was. 

They had _still_ only just met these guys, though.

He swallowed nervously, and looked over at his primo. 

“I, you –” Logan said, clearly astounded, for which Roman really _really_ couldn’t blame him. After all, who had ever woken up in the morning expecting to have an alien to _propose_ to them by the end of the day? 

Logan took a deep breath, which given how Roman could see his chest still slightly heaving even through the bulk of the spacesuit, did not appear to help much.  
  
“You… you are proposing… this, to _me_ _?_ _Specifically?”_ The last part of that came out as a bit of a squeak, which, again: Roman couldn’t remotely fault him for. He’d have struggled not to lose composure either.

Virgil... smiled softly in response, once again ducking his head before shyly looking back up.  
  
“If you’ll have me,” he said quietly.

And…

Okay. Roman had to admit that, yes, he expected that Logan would at least be _tempted_ for a _moment_ , if only by all that _knowledge_ being dangled in front of him like the world’s nerdiest carrot, let alone the weapons-grade puppy eyes being directed right at him. 

He even expected Logan to at least _maybe_ realize that it might be at least _polite_ to not turn down the offer _outright?_ Had considered that Logan may even have felt it would be worth _contemplating_ the… proposal, when say, he’d had _time to think about the full ramifications_ it would have on his life. After he’d, you know, _learned more_ _about_ these Tomasi, like, oh for instance _how they even defined or practiced ‘marriage’ in the first place_ , maybe? Which seemed _awful relevant_ before agreeing to _actually marry_ one? 

What he did _not_ expect, somehow, was what actually happened.  
  
Which was for Logan to simply, breathlessly, _unflinchingly_ say:  
  
“... _I_ _accept_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NEXT CHAPTER:
> 
> "The Conversation"
> 
> Roman is NOT used to feeling like he's the level-headed one. 
> 
> But _apparently_ his prim and proper primo is more passionate than he thought, because _apparently_ they really are about to head home with a nerdy new extraterrestrial fiancé in tow.


	5. The Conversation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roman is NOT used to feeling like he's the level-headed one.
> 
> But apparently his prim and proper primo is more passionate than he thought, because apparently they really are about to head home with a nerdy new extraterrestrial fiancé in tow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (...so much for Daily updates, whoops! Hope this one was worth the wait?)

The first word out of everybody but Logan's mouth, pretty much simultaneously, happened to be: “Really?”

It was said in three _very_ different tones, though.

Roman’s was, understandably, surprised to the point of disbelieving because did _Logan_ seriously just agree on the spot to marry someone!? Let alone of a different species, never mind _culture_ , about whom they knew very little yet? That was… yeah hadn’t been something any part of him had ever seen coming. He wasn’t used to Logan being as impulsive as… well, Roman or his brother. Which is kinda what that _felt_ like. 

Virgil’s tone, in contrast, seemed happy and hopeful — certainly matched his expression, which looked kinda relieved (which made sense, Roman supposed, given he’d seemed kind of nervous when he… _freaking proposed to Logan,_ **_what_ ** _)_.

Janus had been the calmest voice in the room, and Roman was too distracted by his own thoughts at the time to really know for sure, but a quick glance his way proved he’d gone very, very still as he looked at Logan.   
  
Roman followed his gaze and found Logan… smiling. Beaming, even, and he wasn’t even looking at the others, only Virgil.   
  
“Of course,” he said. “I wouldn’t have said I accepted if I didn’t want to.”

Which… hoo boy, Roman thought. There was… so much of that, of _Logan_ really, to unpack now because he really did seem… excited? Genuinely?? To get married??

They were so gonna have to have a Conversation, very very soon, Roman thought. 

Because he _still_ wasn’t sure he could wrap his brain around this yet but even if he could he felt like there were a lot of things Logan had yet to consider that if nothing else he _really really should._  
  
He was just wondering how to broach at least one of those — namely, _what, precisely, **constituted**_ a ‘marriage’ under these terms to the Tomasi — when Janus spoke up again and sort of quietly steamrolled over any opportunity to politely do so.  
  
Namely, by talking about how he would _get the ball —_ (a sigh) — **_figurative_** _ball rolling on everything,_ and how _it'll take a couple of weeks just to get everything communicated and processed,_ and _of course you and your country will presumably have some things you'll want clarification of or to negotiate on and all that as well, so —_

"…you’ll have at least a couple weeks or so before things get made 'official' or anything, so that might be a good time to… start getting to know each other a little —?" Janus concluded, pausing in the act of picking up and straightening the papers that were on the little end table, gaze flitting between Virgil and Logan, at least one brow that Roman could see raised. 

“Of course,” Logan said, nodding. “That would make a great deal of sense. After all, we’ll want to learn more about, if nothing else, each other’s needs and preferences.”  
  
 _Yeah,_ Roman thought, pushing down a flutter of what felt suspiciously like panic. _You know, the thing most people do_ **_before_ ** _accepting a marriage proposal?_

“Oh,” Logan said with the tone of one who has just realized something. “Should… should I stay on the ship with you, then? Would that even be possible, or — hm. I’m not sure we'll be able to get back out here again very easily —”  
  
"Yeah, no, we won't," Roman quickly pointed out. "I had to call in a _huge_ favor just to get us out here _this_ time."

“Well…” Virgil said, and they all turned to him. He seemed to shrink a little at that much attention being turned on him at once, but took a breath, straightened up, and continued: “Um… I… could always go… back to the SSF Sanders with you? I mean — that’s where you live, right Dr. Sinclair? Ideally, I’d — be going to live with you either way, right?”

“Yes,” Logan said. “I do. Though… hm.” He frowned. “It occurs to me. Do you have any idea if microbes from Earth or Earth-derived biomes would pose —”

“If you’re asking about _pathogen_ risk,” Janus cut in. “There’s tech to compensate for that.”

He plopped his papers back down on the table, and walked over, hands held primly behind his back, stopping a few steps later to look at Virgil, who was now giving him what seemed to be a very wary look.

“Of course,” Janus said, smiling in a way that was… somewhere between cheerful and some other, hard-edged emotion Roman didn’t have time to identify before it was gone. “To compensate for the unknown microbial life on SanStat, you’ll be needing some _boosters_.”

Virgil wrinkled his nose. “Ugh. _Really?”_  
  
Janus raised both brows and said: “Oh I’m sorry Virge, did you _want_ to risk getting sick from some mutant space station bacteria I didn’t know to account for because I didn’t know it existed? Or did you want the _eval-booster_ shots and, you know, avoid that whole mess?”  
  
“Shots? _Plural!_ _?”_ Virgil said, clearly horrified, and honestly Roman didn’t blame him if ‘shot’ meant what he thought it did. 

“Well, only _one_ today,” Janus said, and oh, that _can’t_ have been an entirely friendly smile, Roman thought. “But you’ll need to take further boosters pretty regularly. I’d say… at least once a week, possibly twice a week for the first couple of weeks actually, just to get them acclimated correctly without risk of leaving a coverage gap. You’ll want at least monthly ones after that, of course, and an additional dose any time you think you’ve been perhaps directly exposed to something already known for being deleterious, such as someone around you has a cold, or you eat some sketchy fish or something —”

Virgil squinted at him suspiciously. “That seems like an awfully full schedule for shots.”  
  
“Well, yes,” Janus said, rolling his eyes. “You’ve been living on a _ship_ with someone who’s already pre-inoculated for most things, for the last nigh-on-two-decades, Virgil. You haven’t _needed_ that many before now. Your risk of exposure to any kind of microbe that would be _new_ to your body, has, until now, been extremely low. But if you _plan to go to an environment we’ve never even biologically sampled,_ which is an _enclosed_ one I might add —”

Virgil let out a distinctly petulant huff, rolled his eyes, and muttered: “Whatever. I’ll take the stupid shot. You have the kit ready?”  
  
“I’ll go and grab it,” Janus said, cheerfully.   
  
A little too cheerfully, if you asked Roman, who watched for a moment as he left the room, heading down the hall.

“Sooo… what was _that_ about?” he asked, turning back to Virgil and raising his brows.

“Huh?” Virgil blinked, as if having forgotten he was there. “Oh! We have these things — it’s like… microscopic machines? That acts, like, kinda like you guys' white blood cells would? But it’s preprogrammed with _patterns_ , so it actually detects like, _any_ new bacteria, virus, whatever, and then evaluates it against… basically what I believe you’d call a 'whitelist' and a 'blacklist'? If it’s something 'blacklisted', or at least 'greylisted' as ‘okay, in some places but not here’, then like, the whole system goes on alert to destroy it, the way an immune system would, but like... a little less self-destructively, usually. And if it’s an unknown microbe or an unrecognized variant that could be a mutation with potential pathogenic effects, it gets like, internally quarantined? And evaluated for potential threat to the body. Our… immune systems on their own tend to be more _reactive_ than _proactive_ like yours? So over time we developed the 'eval'-boosters as a — what?”

Roman and Logan both were staring at him, though for different reasons. 

“That’s… incredible,” Logan breathed. “That’s — an amazing advancement! The number of _lives_ that could _save_ —!”

“Yeah,” Roman said, nodding slowly. “But also, like, not actually what I was asking about. What’s with the like… weird passive-aggressive vibe Janus gave off just now?”

Virgil rolled his eyes in response, crossing his arms and shrugging. “Oh, that. Heck if I know. Probably some kind of petty revenge for pointing out he’s bad at math or something, if I had to guess? He’s kinda moody on the best of days —”  
  
“Aww, Virgil. Love you, too,” Janus chirped, coming back in the room with what looked kind of like a toolbox and shooting him a reproachful look before setting the box down on a chair. “But in fairness, it’s not like I’m making things up on that front. You really will need the boosters if you want to stay healthy”

“Uh,” Roman said, and then cut in with something that he was frankly surprised didn’t occur to _Logan_ sooner. “What about… _our_ potential exposure? Like. Not that I’m calling you — I mean, you know, things that are harmless to you — to one population, if you will, could still…”

He trailed off as Janus shot him a dry look. 

“Do you really think,” the still-golden-scaled linguist said, placing one hand on his hip. “That I would have let you on board this ship without first making sure that there _weren't_ any obvious pathogenic organisms for humans on here? The air in here was repeatedly filtered and sanitized starting literal _decades_ ago, so was the water, and the only places I’ve gone since then have all been on Earth, while _myself_ protected with the eval-boosters, which!”   
  
He leaned over the box and flicked open a latch and then the lid, before continuing.   
  
“ _Those_ little beauties tend to render things rather _non-communicable,_ especially as something Virgil left _out_ of that little explanation, is that _these_ ones are also _specifically set_ to also kill microbes that are harmless to _us_ but known health risks if spread to humans.”

He pulled out a vial of clear blue liquid and what was very definitely some sort of needle tip, which he promptly snapped onto the end of the vial.   
  
“So, quite literally,” he said, giving it a slight test squeeze. “There should be _nothing_ in _any_ of the air, water, or even _surfaces_ on board this ship, that should pose any threat whatsoever to the health of humans, let alone relatively young adults in good health, such as yourselves.”

Logan and Roman stared at him.   
  
Janus stared back, raising a brow. “What?”   
  
“So… wait. We could totally have been breathing this air just fine the whole time? We could have taken the helmets _off_?” Roman said.

“Yes,” Janus said, smiling at him. _Smugly._

“And you didn’t think to tell us that!? _Why!?”_

Janus continued ‘pleasantly’ smiling at him, shrugged, and said: 

“You never asked, Princey.”

“Okay, also? On that note,” Roman said, after promptly (well… as promptly as possible anyway) removing said helmet. “How the heck do you know that nickname? You knew exactly who both of us were, by name, and I more than kinda want to know _how_.”

Janus shot him an unimpressed look.

It was Virgil who explained, though. “Well, we kinda were monitoring the common frequencies in the area? And your Station’s Traffic Control mentioned the Trash Scoop leaving with two people, and… well. I mean, we checked the manifest? You did still have to file a flight plan, after all. You were both listed on it…?”   
  
Roman blinked.   
  
“…oh.”   
  
Then he frowned.   
  
“But the _nickname_ ?” he said, glancing back and forth between them. “It’s not like _that_ was on the manifest!”

Janus rolled his eyes, and said: “Oh, sure, and it’s _not_ like you have copious social media accounts, either. Or like you feature in any cast lists on prior theater playbills, or have pieces hanging in the local art museum, or are basically just the _well known_ son of a _well known_ family, with a _strong local news and social media presence_ in recent years on SanStat, or anything like _that_.” 

There was a pause, before Roman responded.

“You… looked me up online? That’s _it? ”_

Virgil snorted. “Well… I mean… yes? Why wouldn’t we? It was the easiest way to know who we were about to talk to.”

“…I don’t know why,” Roman said. “But for some reason I find this explanation rather disappointing.”

“What, you were expecting us to be shapeshifters _and_ psychic, or something?” Virgil said, clearly amused.   
  
At least, he was until Janus tapped him on the shoulder, smiled sunnily, and said:   
  
“Virgil, dear, you’re going to need to move your _arms_ if I’m going to reach the flap.”   
  
Virgil made a face like someone who’d just bitten into a slightly rotted lemon.

Janus raised one brow. “I mean, I’m not letting you leave for SanStat without the booster —”

“All right, all right! I’m doing it,” Virgil replied, rolling his eyes and letting both arms fall and go limp. He sighed, winced, and muttered: “Just get it over with?”

Interestingly… Janus seemed to soften for a moment at that, shooting him a sympathetic look before leaning a little forward, popping open a flap on the chest, which let a weird, tiny protrusion stick out that he then —

Roman had never much liked getting shots, let alone watching them, so he was already turning away and almost missed it when Janus put up one hand, offering it to Virgil. 

Which gave him pause because _two_ of his hands were still _very much occupied_ (namely with lining up the needle). 

In other words, he had literally just sprouted a _whole third arm._ Out of seemingly _nowhere._ _  
_   
Well, no, it was from… somewhere on his torso, given it was jutting out of there, but still, the point nonetheless was that he had _started_ with two arms and now suddenly he had _three_. And Virgil seemed completely unsurprised and unfazed by that, merely accepting the offered hand and holding tightly onto it while very purposefully looking Not Where The Shot Was Going To Go In.

The upside of the whole _what the hell he just pulled out a whole **third arm** _ thing was that he didn’t even notice when the shot went in until he saw Virgil briefly flinch.

Logan took off his own helmet around that time as well, and muttered:   
  
“Fascinating… did your suit just _adjust_ to your changed shape, or is the so-called ‘suit’ itself actually part of your body?”   
  
“Oh, it adjusts,” Janus said offhandedly. “I mean, not a huge amount, and it’s got different settings for that, but —”   
  
“Not a huge amount!?” Roman sputtered. “You just pulled out an entire extra arm! It accounted for a _whole extra_ spontaneous _arm!”_

Janus grinned at him as he unscrewed the needle from the vial.   
  
“I have a _very_ good tailor.” 

Most of the rest of the time on the alien ship — which according to Janus, was called _the Portus_ — went by as a bit of a blur for Roman after that.

Could you really blame him, though? After all, just as he had been ready to process ‘aliens are apparently real’, he got hit with ‘and they want to meet us in person’, and when he had almost gotten acclimated to _that_ , he had seen one _shapeshift,_ and then there was _another one,_ who _proposed to his cousin_ — and look, he hadn’t thought they could surprise him any more today, had thought he was all Surprised Out, but _apparently_ the extra arm still did him in a little, because he zoned out for a few minutes after that. 

Or possibly more than a few, because next thing he knew, Virgil was coming out of the hallway (when had he even left the room?), with a bag apparently packed and what was definitely a spacesuit helmet in hand.

"...and you _checked_ if there's punctures right?”   
  
“Yes,” Virgil said.   
  
“You do remember how to close the seal on the helmet, right? And you recall which button it is to pressurize —"

"Janus,” Virgil said, rolling his eyes but giving a sort of wry smile. “Think about who you're asking that to. When have I _ever_ not paid attention to safety stuff?"

Janus, it turned out, was behind Virgil, at the end of the hallway, arms (back to two, Roman noticed) crossed over his chest. He frowned, and then couldn’t seem to resist adding:  
  
"...and you have the vitamin packs and the med-kit yes? The —"

"Yes! I know how to pack a 'bug out bag', Janus." Oddly, despite being obviously exasperated at the pestering, Roman couldn’t help but notice it was slightly… fond, exasperation.

"Remember to make sure you get enough hydration,” Janus said. “And salts. You do have your sodium supplement in there, right?”  
  
“I will, and I do.”   
  
“What about your spare gloves — "

"Aww,” Virgil said, smirking at him. “Janus! If I didn't know any better, I'd think you _cared_."

"…shut up, brat,” Janus said, rolling his eyes and looking away, but even Roman could tell he still looked like he was ready to vibrate out of his skin. “I'm just doing my _job_ , okay?"

"Sure you are, " Virgil said, grinning. 

The ‘job’ thing kind of confused Roman, but… the overall vibe felt so familiar, he couldn’t resist asking:

"So… are you two, like, family or something?"

Janus turned to him, with an expression so Perfectly Neutral that Roman was sure it had to be faked. 

"Yes, technically,” he said slowly. “Officially speaking he’s been what you might call my ‘ward’ for some time — part of my job is to prepare would-be fiances for introduction to new cultures, and as such he would already be considered my ‘student’ and also someone I would need to ensure was kept safe. But…”  
  
“But, we’re also from the same clan,” Virgil added, giving his helmet one last once-over. “Back on the homeworld.”   
  
Janus gave a little hum of acknowledgement, as he moved forward, apparently helping adjust something on the helmet and then main suit.   
  
“Yes,” he said. “That too. I’ve been successful at making introductions and alliances with several other peoples over time, so… my clan was chosen to have the honor of participating in the next such alliance I helped form. So, after Virgil was selected as the best candidate for the role, I was chosen as his guardian and, of course, his teacher when it came to Earth's languages and cultures. Which I have been, for over 18 years, now."

"A majority of my life so far," Virgil noted, nodding sagely and with a barely-suppressed smirk. "A lot of which has been spent with him _totally_ pretending he's not fretting."

"..I don't _fret_ ," Janus said irritably, and in blatant contradiction to how that conversation had even started. "I point out _concerns_ that are _valid_ and _reasonable_ and come from _logical interpretations_ of circumstances and available knowledge."

"Uh-huh," Virgil said, unable to suppress the smirk now. "And that's _totally_ why you're smoothing out _wrinkles_ in my _spacesuit_."

Which… Janus was totally doing, apparently, and clearly realized he was only when Virgil said that.   
  
He promptly stopped, and a moment later insisted: "I was just checking for punctures and leaks, dear. Don't be absurd."

“The punctures or leaks I already told you I checked for? Those punctures or leaks?” Virgil was once again outright grinning and Janus huffed, and Roman frankly had to suppress a snort.

“You two are adorable,” he teased. “Are you sure your name is ‘Janus’ and not ‘Mom’?”

Janus leveled an impressive glare at Roman, which Roman counted as a win, under the circumstances.

“Well,” Virgil then said, and Roman would almost call it guiltily. “Um… guess… not really any more preparations to make… right?”  
  
Janus was quiet for a moment, before murmuring: “…suppose not.”

There was another moment of awkward silence.  
  
Then Janus let out a small huff.

He reached out with one gloved hand, quietly taking hold of one of Virgil’s.

Virgil’s fingers immediately gripped back, twining around his palm. 

They stood there for a long moment; for what had to be easily 10, 20 seconds maybe Roman thought. Just… holding tight.

And then, the moment was broken; Janus disentangling their fingers, giving Virgil’s cheek a gentle pat, and stepping back.

Roman glanced over at Logan, and saw him also watching, his brow furrowed. 

Virgil must have looked over at the both of them then, because Roman heard him make a soft, amused sort of sound, and when he looked back at him, Virgil was giving Logan a warm little smile. “It’s okay,” he said. “This was gonna happen eventually. And… believe or not, I’m actually kind of, like… excited? To the see the Station, I mean? I haven’t been outside the ship much at all for literally years. Even with company you get kinda…” 

He frowned, and Roman realized he was searching for the right words.

He felt a pang of recognition at that, even though it was arguably the inverse that he’d experienced; though much of his older family had spoken Spanish, his parents had raised him and Remus mostly speaking English, at first. It had taken _years_ for him to get more fluent, to feel remotely confident in the language that had been his own father’s first tongue. The frustration of feeling he _should_ know it, and yet not knowing _as much as he should_ of it… it might not be the exact same situation, but. _Empatía._

“Restless, I guess?” Virgil eventually came up with, and Roman made sure to give him a smile for that.

“Oh yeah, totally get what you mean. Can’t stay in one place too long without a _bit_ of change, yeah? Not for _too_ long. We’re not like…” he paused. “Do you know what ‘coral’ is?”   
  
Virgil, to his surprise, burst out laughing. “Do I — uh. Yes, actually. We… have some very similar things back — um, on our — on the planet we came from, basically? And yeah, we’re not… like coral. At all. You’re right about that. Gotta get, uh… I guess… water moving through the gills, so to speak?”   
  
Janus seemed a little amused at this for some reason, chuckling. “Indeed,” he said.

His hands were, Roman noticed, behind his back again.  
  
“Well,” he said. “The packet I gave you should have all the basic information you’ll need to adapt to life on the Station. Including your list of recommended — and very much not recommended — nutritional options, and a little guide to the local etiquette on the Station… which is granted, pulled from tourist resources so I might advise treating it as _very_ rudimentary.”   
  
“…you mean ‘basic’?” Virgil said dryly. “You can say ‘basic’ Janus, you don’t need a big, fancy multisyllabic word to say the same thing.”

Roman snorted. 

Janus huffed. “You’re so _very_ welcome for trying to expand your vocabulary in the language your future and _college-educated_ spouse speaks fluently, Virgil,” Janus said with equal dryness. “Not like that was half the point of teaching you English or anything, after all.”  
  
“Yeah, yeah,” Virgil said, shooting him a smile that was somehow smirky and affectionate all at once. “I get it. Not like you use _every_ possible excuse to flaunt your vocabulary or anything, how could I ever have thought otherwise?”   
  
“Hmph,” Janus said, but it didn’t have enough heat to be truly cranky. “Well…” he gestured down to Virgil’s hand, still holding the helmet. “At any rate, you _may_ want to put that on, if you plan to be exiting the other end of that airlock any time soon.” 

Virgil gave him a lopsided sort of smile, and pulled his helmet on.

 _Well,_ Roman thought dizzily. _Time to go home, I guess._ _  
_   
With… an extraterrestrial soon-to-be-sibling-in-law, apparently.   
  


_At least my memoirs are guaranteed to be interesting…_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IN OUR NEXT CHAPTER:
> 
> "The (Other) Conversation"
> 
> Virgil accompanies Roman and Logan back to the Station, and while the paperwork is being handled, Roman and Logan have a much-needed chat.


	6. The (Other) Conversation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Virgil accompanies Roman and Logan back to the Station, and while the paperwork is being handled, Roman and Logan have a much-needed chat.

Roman was pretty busy manning the controls and trying not to lose his mind, so he didn’t necessarily pay much conscious attention to the conversation between Virgil and Logan on the way back, though he did catch snippets of discussion enough to know Logan asked what foods Virgil could eat (a lot of human foods, though he’d need some sort of supplements, turns out), and whether he slept (yes) and how to accommodate that (“a bed?” was basically the answer, to which Roman didn’t quite manage to suppress a snort). 

A lot of the rest of it was them going about that 'slipspace' stuff, including something about Logan’s doctoral thesis, which Virgil was apparently familiar with and extremely excited about, calling it 'brilliant' and 'perceptive'. Logan, needless to say, was pleased at that assessment.

Roman, who again, had majored in Fine Arts and not anything even close to physics, decided not to weigh in on the matter and to just take both their words for it. 

As they approached the Station again, he shoved down the nervous flutter in his chest as best he could and radioed in to Traffic Control to check on the safety of the approach — and then much of his nervousness mercifully evaporated once he realized he recognized the voice on the other end.

"Katy! Katy- _did-_ geridoo, is that really you!? How's it going, I haven't heard from you in ages!"

" _Princey?”_ came the bemused reply. “I didn't know you were still doing Trash Scoop Duty!"

"I, uh — was doing a favor for a friend."

"Wow. Some favor! It's almost midnight, you know."  
  
Indeed, when he glanced down at the instruments he noticed the clock read: _**11:47 SST** __  
_

“Really good friend,” he said dryly, giving a side-eyed smirk in Logan’s direction.

"Wait,” Katy said. “You only went out at — huh. That was kind of a quick trip for a scoop run, Ro. Were you going out after something specific?" 

It was for some reason only then that he recalled that most ‘scoop runs’ to clear debris were run on a regular schedule, and it was only when a specific object of some sort had been identified as within or near various craft or Station paths and somehow not fallen within the convenient windows of the normal shifts, that you’d get someone going out on _short_ trips in them, let alone at weird hours.  
  
How he’d forgotten that, considering how bored out of his mind he often had been while on them, he wasn’t sure but he supposed it had just been a hell of a day.

_Out after something specific, huh?_

"You… could say that," he said, glancing at Virgil. "And um, _on_ that note, uh… we miiiiight be coming back with a third person…?"

There was a moment of silence.  
  
"… _what?_ Seriously!? Who —"

"Yeah, um, about that — we'll need an emergency pass for them?"

"Uhhh okay… sure. But. The Visa office is kinda officially closed this time of night, though, so it'll be a hassle to pull someone over to handle it, you know that, right?"

Indeed, he did, but that was fine. He had already had someone in mind to drag out of bed.

"Yeah, well, do you remember Patton? Patton Hart?"

"…Patton from _College Algebra?_ "

"Yes! Exactly,” he said, relieved. “I can give you _his_ number. He works in the Visa Office. I'll make him some cookies to make it up to him for getting him out this late."

"…I demand cookies too, and also to know _absolutely everything_ about how the _frick_ you ended up out this late on a trash scoop and came back with a wholeass living person, Princey."

"…I can promise you only the cookies at this point, Dear Lady Katy," he said, chuckling. “Now: care to tell us whether we’re clear to approach or not?”  
  
“Oh! Right. Ummm… yep! You’re good to go, Princey, I’ll give you the best line of approach if you hang on a sec…”

After they sorted that out and he was aiming for the recommended path into the Station, Logan broke the silence. And he sounded slightly baffled.  
  
“How… _do_ you know this many people in so many different places?"

Roman blinked at him. “…because I like making friends? Are you really _complaining_ about that right now?”

“Of course not,” Logan said. “It’s coming in handy, it’s hardly something I will _complain_ about. It's just that it’s… surprising, I suppose.”

Roman raised a brow. “…that I have _friends_?”

“No,” Logan said carefully. “More that you, who… majored in Fine Arts, and have largely seemed to keep to similarly related activities, manage to have people with whom you're on a first name basis, in everything from the Visa Office to Traffic Control and Maintenance.” He paused. “Or for that matter, that you kept in contact with anybody you knew in _College Algebra_ , because how many years ago did you even take that class?”

“Hey, just because _your_ contacts list fits on one page doesn't mean _mine_ has to,” Roman said, grinning. “Also you'd be surprised how many people appreciate live theater these days.”

Logan raised a brow.  
  
“You connected with all of these people through theater?”

“I mean, Toby I did. And Patton, to some extent — he sews as a hobby, did costume work as part of an elective for our troupe in college. Katy was the one ‘just’ from math class, but Katy is cool, and she was in the Film Club, so believe me, I’d remember her even if I _hadn’t_ gone to some of her roller derby things.”  
  
“…when do you ever find time to _sleep?”_

“Just because _you_ don’t have a full social calendar doesn’t mean _mine_ has to be barren, Un-Lo-cial Media.”  
  
_“Ow,”_ Virgil said, groaning good-naturedly. “I’m not even _fluent_ yet and I can tell how hard you had to stretch for that one. Did you pull a muscle going for it?”  
  
Roman sputtered.  
  
Luckily for him, he had parking to distract him while he regained his composure. 

And equally lucky that he regained it, because Patton managed to arrive only minutes after they had parked and come inside, and it was pretty clear he’d rushed to get down there.  
  
It was then Roman realized they would have to… explain… some things.

Which made the next few minutes a little awkward, as Patton of course immediately asked to see their ‘unexpected visitor’, and Virgil shyly introduced himself, and both Roman and Logan stammered around an explanation because of course neither of them had thought to _actually think about_ how the hell they were explaining things to anybody, but eventually they managed to spit it out the words ‘from an extraterrestrial civilization’, and —

— and to Roman’s shocked relief, Patton not only listened, he against all logic actually believed them immediately and (somehow) without question. Though his eyes did go a little wide.

After he had had a minute to process all that, he then turned back to Virgil and gently asked: “So… Virgil?”

Virgil swallowed, nervously. “Y-yes?”  
  
“This is just a formality,” Patton said, smiling wryly and inclining his head. “But I’m legally obligated to ask it, okay?”

“…okay.”  
  
Patton then started in on what was very obviously an Official Script, which apparently he’d decided to liven up by giving himself a faux-stern, sort of pouty expression and talking in a weird, lower-than-usual pitch, like a child pretending to be a dour grownup:  
  
“Virgil. Are you in need of life-sustaining aid, including, but not necessarily limited to, a supply of oxygen, and/or a source of heat, and/or a pressurized environment?”

Virgil looked halfway between confused and amused with a pitstop in nervous. “I… yes?”

“Cool! Okay, so!” Patton chirped, brightening immediately. A tone that was far closer to his normal cheer took over, though it was still somehow channeling some of Serious Business Pout. “Next we need you to answer this: will you also be in need of food, and/or water, and/or medical treatment?”

He then — for lack of a better term — broke character enough to lean over and clarify: “What that’s really asking is: can you provide any of that for yourself — or do you have a friend on the Station who can provide any of that — or do we need to scrounge it up for you?”

“I can provide food,” Logan interjected. “And water access.”

“I uh… am not… needing medical treatment, either?” Virgil said.  
  
“Well that’s certainly good to know!” Patton said, grinning. “So! Only official questions left are… hm. Well there’s a question about nationality and/or asylum seeking… _are_ you seeking asylum?”

“I… “ Virgil paused, clearly unsure how to answer. “What… is the definition in this case?”  
  
“It means you came from somewhere unsafe,” Patton said. “And because of that, that you need to be somewhere that isn’t where you came from.”

“Oh,” Virgil said. “Um… we’re… actually, kinda seeking an alliance with your people? That is, like — you know. First Contact and all? For — trade, and — knowledge sharing? We — uhhhhh… we… come in peace…?” 

During that… oh-so-eloquent attempt at explanation, Virgil’s voice had gradually risen until it was a squeak, and then (and if there had been any doubt that he wasn’t human before, there probably was less of it now) it had sort of… doubled itself? Like there was a weird lower pitch reverberating and echoing underneath. Virgil had flinched when that came out, and almost literally seemed to shrink into himself, ducking his head, clearly afraid that, well, he’d made someone afraid.

Thankfully, however, Roman had apparently chosen wisely when he’d decided to ask for Patton. Because though Patton blinked in surprise at the momentary vocal weirdness, he quickly recovered. 

“Awww!” he said, smiling so brightly Roman immediately wanted to make sunshine-related puns. “That’s so sweet!” 

Patton then pursed his lips, thinking for a moment. 

“Okay,” he said finally, nodding. “Not _asylum-seeking,_ then. But! We can probably put you on the list of applicants for diplomatic status! It might take a few days — or weeks, depending — but that’d be a great way to transition off the Safe Harbor status! Oh, that’s the official name for the temporary pass we provide for, well, usually it’d be people who needed rescuing from —” Patton waved toward the airlock leading to the sealed Maintenance Berth. “— but in this case, I mean, it’s not like we’re going to just chuck you back out there, you know?”

He frowned, then. “Oh, hang on, I just realized, we might need to have a quarantine period —”

“Ah — actually, that’s… been taken care of, apparently,” Logan said. “Their medical science is highly advanced. Apparently the current chances of Virgil carrying a microbe-transmitted disease that would be communicable to humans is extremely low, to the point of essentially nil. Likewise, he has… technological adaptations that should prevent the reverse from occurring as well.”

“Oh!” Patton said. “Neat! That actually makes things a lot easier. So I guess…”

He turned to Virgil.  
  
“Only thing that needs sorting out tonight I guess is… will you need a place to stay?”

“Ah,” said Virgil. “Um… I think — the plan was to um, stay with… Logan?” 

Patton glanced at Logan, who simply said: “That would be amenable, yes.” 

Patton smiled warmly at him, and then back at Virgil. “Okay! Well that part’s taken care of at least. I can —”  
  
He was interrupted by Logan clearing his throat.

“On… that note, actually,” Logan said. “I, uh. If I’m not mistaken… is there a special status for fiancés of current citizens?”

Patton stared at him.  
  
“Uh… yes? I mean. There can be? If the fiancé wants to move to SanStat, there’s a special part of the immigration process that applies in that case, but — why do you ask?”  
  
_Oh, Patton,_ Roman thought. _Wait’ll you hear this…  
  
_

* * *

  
Patton had been… understandably surprised, when Logan had explained — succinctly, and wow, Roman hadn’t even thought of doing it that way — that Virgil was, technically, at current, his fiancé. 

Patton had been tentatively happy for them, if a little confused, which was very sweet of him, but boy Roman would love to be a fly on the wall when he eventually learned all the weird details of how _that_ came about.

In the meantime, Patton assured them that he could get the Safe Harbor status established officially by morning, and that he would look into both the diplomatic visa and the fiancé options for keeping Virgil on board for longer than the standard 1-2 weeks that Safe Harbor normally maxed out at.

However, in order to get things started on either of the latter two, he said he needed to speak with Virgil… alone, apparently.

Logan appeared slightly distressed at this, and Virgil even more so, so Patton assured them it was “just standard practice, formality really, and anyway the waiting room to the office is surprisingly comfy, so why don’t we head up there now and get things started?”

And so they had.

And so it was that they — that is, Roman and Logan — were currently seated there next to each other, waiting for Patton to finish up the interview with Virgil.  
  
Roman couldn’t stand having a great big ET-shaped elephant in the room, so he wound up breaking the silence first with:

“So. You really are just gonna… do this, then? Marry Virgil, that is?”

Logan gave him a baffled look. “Well… yes? I wouldn't have verbally agreed to, otherwise.”

“Okay,” Roman said, nodding. “Cool, that’s cool. It’s just... “

Logan raised an eyebrow. “Just what?”

Roman took a breath, and let it out in a huff.  
  
“Kind of a big decision isn't it? To make on the _spot,_ like that? That’s all. I just… really want to make sure you're, well, _sure_ of this. Because… well, I know it’d be super awkward at this point, but it's probably not _technically_ too late to back out of at least that part of it? Or switch to saying 'I'll need to think it over', at least? They did say you're not _obligated,_ after all…” 

Logan shrugged.

"I know,” he said. “But they also said it's very 'standard' practice for their culture, and would serve to help figuratively 'solidify' the alliance — which is not strange to consider, really, as many Earth-based cultures have had similar practices, especially on the larger political level —"

"Well, _yes, but_ —” Roman said. “ _You, personally…_ would still be getting _married,_ right? To Virgil, specifically. Who you only _just_ met, like, less than what — two, three hours ago?"

Logan, to his surprise, chuckled. "Well, if you think about it, we've been 'conversing' all day. It's just that most of it was coded within mathematics and radio signals."

Roman stared at him for a moment, considering. 

"You're really okay with this. Aren’t you."

"It's the chance of a _lifetime,_ Roman. To be able to see, to _learn,_ all the things Virgil described —"

"Yes, _but,_ " Roman said, calling on every freaking ounce of patience he had. "Are _you_ really okay with getting _married._ _To Virgil._ Without even getting to know him first? Or — ‘them’? Not sure which I should be going with, here —"

Logan blinked at him, brow furrowing. "Of course not."

Roman stared back at him. "Then why —?"

"We have _already_ agreed to ‘get to know each other’ before the marriage is… ‘made official’, or whatnot, Roman. That just makes sense. After all, presumably we might be expected to live with each other, and certainly, we seem likely to be working with each other on laying out the figurative foundations of the alliance between our peoples, including all of the cultural and scientific exchanges we hope to initiate. It would be silly not to learn more about each other, we would put the both of us at a disadvantage, which would potentially and quite unnecessarily hinder — Roman, _what_ are you looking at me like that for?"

Roman wasn't actually sure _what_ his face was doing right then, but it wasn't surprising Logan had commented, as he suspected it was an… _interesting_ expression, considering the combination of alarm and bafflement and who knows what else he was feeling in response to _that_.

"Okay. So," he responded, slowly. "I wasn't asking if you'd get to know them _before the wedding_. I was asking if you're really okay agreeing to marry them _right now_ — _agreeing_ right now, that is, to marry them. Because that's… that's um. That's a really big decision and I really, _really_ want to make sure you're actually _sure_ of it and have thought it through, you know?" 

"Oh," Logan said, and you could practically see the metaphorical light bulb go off.

"Yeah," Roman said, shooting him a dry but fond look. "So. _Are_ you sure?"

To his credit, he did actually appear to think about it for a moment, but the pause before Logan responded was still far shorter than Roman would have expected, considering the answer. 

"Yes."

Roman's lips twitched.  
  
"…mind if I ask why? And don't," he emphasized. "Just say 'the opportunity' or 'helping with the alliance' or things like that, because from what they both said that's mostly on the table either way. What _I_ want to know is why you're okay — you, _Dr. Logan Sinclair_ , are okay — with the _very specific_ idea of not only marrying someone from their culture, but, specifically, marrying _Virgil_."

Logan stared at him for a long moment, at first in surprise, and then more thoughtfully. 

"Why wouldn't I?"

Roman squinted at him. "You know, that's not a satisfying answer. You know just about anybody could probably list some very good — perfectly _logical_ and _reasonable_ — reasons why you wouldn't want, in general, to agree to marry someone you _literally_ just learned the name of like, less than two hours ago, and had only… _communicated_ with for a literal day or less." 

Logan, to his surprise and slight irritation, raised a brow.  
  
"Plenty of human cultures have and continue to engage in arranged marriages on a regular basis, Roman. Including scenarios extremely similar to what you describe, and for far _less_ incentive."

He rolled his eyes in response.

"Okay, _yes,_ but — you're not _from_ one of those cultures! And forgive me for pointing out the obvious but this person _isn't human_ , and no, I am not being a — I guess very literal — 'xenophobe' here, I am just pointing out that you have no idea what 'marriage' _means_ to these… to the Tomasi." 

Logan gave a considering hum at that. "Yes, we should get clarification of the details at some point, that is a fair point."

"…at _some_ point?" Roman said, mouth agape. "You… don't think doing so like, literally as soon as possible would be a— you know what, don't answer that, it was rhetorical. What I am seriously baffled about here is why you're so… _chill_ — figuratively, you know — with just… _marrying_ this person, considering what little you actually know about them or their culture because yes, it all sounds very enticing from some 'logical' standpoints but if they practice like… monogamy, if you're expected to — um, consummate it, or —"

Logan shrugged. "Given their general attitudes, I was working off the assumption that there is some flexibility, but I have no reason to find objection to any of those particular possibilities."

Roman sputtered at that.

"What if they mate like praying mantises or something!?" he said. 

Logan raised a brow again in response. 

"…then that would _presumably_ be fine, seeing as praying mantises are not sapient to that level _and_ the idea that female praying mantises cannibalistically murder their mates is actually a longstanding myth. While they have certainly been observed to do so, it was only a regular occurrence in captivity — in the wild, they seem far less willing to do so, so it's been long assumed by entomologists that they engage in it only when under some form of stress, and I think we can assume —"

"You don't think moving halfway across the galaxy to marry someone they've never met would count as 'stress'!?"

"No," Logan said, his lip twitching in clear amusement. "Of course, I imagine it would be for most. However, I do _also_ suspect that they would not figuratively 'solidify' very many alliances, if they regularly _murdered_ their spouses from the other culture. Or otherwise harmed them, in any way. They _are_ certainly intelligent enough to understand risk and reward, Roman."

"I…"  
  
That admittedly gave him pause, because… yeah.

"Okay, you have a point there, maybe,” he said. “ _Assuming_ they're telling the truth, anyway. Which! I'm not saying they _aren't,_ but like! We _literally_ just met them! You could and should definitely get clarification on this stuff before making any sort of commitment, Lo-thario."

Logan nodded.

"Fair enough,” he said. “After Virgil gets back, I will inquire as to what would be expected of either of us in such an arrangement. If there is anything truly objectionable in such expectations, of course, I will… act accordingly."

Roman felt what seemed like every muscle in his body relax at that. 

"Okay," he said, letting out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. "Okay, good. _Good._ "

Logan nodded, a pleased look on his face, and then went quiet, looking calmly elsewhere in the room as if he expected that was the end of the conversation.

Which… it wasn't. Not yet.

"So, though, assuming… like, the usual stuff a _human_ marriage would entail, though. You're really… okay with the idea of just… doing that? With Virgil, specifically?"

Logan looked at him with a surprisingly quizzical expression at that.

"Why would I have agreed to marry Virgil, in specific, if I didn't find the idea of marrying Virgil, in specific, to be acceptable?" 

"Okay," Roman said, and was very proud of his ability to not clench his teeth right then. (Acting! He deserved an award for this) " _But,_ Lo, there's a difference between 'acceptable' and… Logan, it's just… that's a _huge decision_ , to just make in a _moment_ like that. You really should ask yourself if — if you would _want_ to probably spend the rest of your life with this person. Because that's the intention of most _human_ marriages, at any rate, including and probably especially the pre-arranged ones."

Logan tilted his head, clearly processing that. 

"So… what you're attempting to get clarification on," he said. "Is whether, at this point at least, I really think I'd be 'okay' with being Virgil's lifelong companion?"

"Yes!" Roman said. God, he thought, getting Logan to that point had, inexplicably to his mind, been like pulling _teeth_. 

Logan nodded, and said:

"I believe so, yes."

Roman stared at him for a moment.

He realized then, in _that moment exactly,_ that it was entirely possible he didn't really know his primo as well as he had thought. 

"I — really?"

Logan nodded.

"I… why, though?" Roman said. Carefully.

Logan blinked at him, brow furrowing just slightly. "Why wouldn't I be?"

Roman stared at him some more, _both_ brows raised now.  
  
"Okayyyy. Not even gonna _touch_ on the fact that you just brought this conversation in ye ol figurative circle again. Because _more to my point_ : why _would_ you be? And again — _don't_ say 'the opportunity to work on an alliance' and all that stuff. You'd be doing that anyway! They basically said as much! I mean, like… not that I'm insisting you... _shouldn't,_ let alone can't, I mean you're your own person, obviously you can. But… I mean… why _would_ you choose to — to commit like that. To _Virgil_ , specifically. Why are you already so — so _sure_ that it'd be a decision you'd — I dunno, be _happy_ with? Long term?"

Logan gave him a considering look.

"Ah," he said. "I believe I understand your concern a little better now."

"I sure hope you do, Lo," Roman said, bouncing a leg out of sheer, bottled-up nerves now. "Because I care a _lot_ about what happens to you. I just don't want you to — to make yourself _un_ happy, in the future. You know?" 

It wasn't often that he had seen Logan look… _soft_. But he could only describe the expression he had now as exactly that.

"Roman," he said. "Your consideration for my happiness is… _genuinely,_ appreciated. But to address your central concern…"

He shrugged, and smiled, and said: 

"I have no real reason as of yet to believe I _wouldn't_ be perfectly satisfied being a long-term or even life-long companion with Virgil, in the sense that at least a human marriage might imply."

Roman wasn't sure how to respond to that, which clearly Logan recognized if only by the fact that he didn't.

"I don't… know what to say, really, to explain it," Logan said. "Other than Virgil…" 

He paused, clearly pondering his wording.

"Virgil seems, to me, to be very… _agreeable?_ He was very amicable — even friendly, if a bit 'shy' at times — with a clear and rather amusing sense of humor, and a great deal of intelligence, curiosity, and compassion. The fact that it was Virgil, specifically, with whom I exchanged most of the mathematical communications with, that he could keep up with them so quickly on the proverbial 'fly', is… impressive, and the fact he did not mind doing so, and indeed from the sounds of it even had somewhat enjoyed doing so, is…" 

Logan paused, as if searching for the right word. 

"Nice to know?" Roman suggested.

Logan hummed an agreement. "Yes. Pleasing, even. You know that it can be… difficult, sometimes, for me to find people on a similar figurative 'wavelength' as myself, with apparently similar skills and interests. And…"

He tilted his head, considering again.

"There's also the _passion_ ," he said. "With which he described what he… wanted, would like to work for, for both of our peoples, the way he spoke of sharing knowledge, of saving or improving lives, of — of showing me — _us_ — magnificent things we would _never_ be able to see or study otherwise! It…"

He broke off for a moment, smiling and shaking his head a little. "It was… endearing," he said finally, and there was a warmth to his tone that Roman wasn't sure he'd often, if ever, heard from Logan.

At which point, Roman thought… _oh._ Maybe he did understand after all. At least a little.

He narrowed his eyes at Logan, a smile that wanted to be a smirk building on his lips. 

"Probably helps that Virgil liked your thesis, huh?"

"And he liked my thesis!" Logan said, and it wasn’t often you could describe him as _beaming_ , but, well. Accurate, at the moment. “He _understood my thesis,_ and he liked it!”

Roman grinned.

"Called it — what was it again?" he said, even though he absolutely recalled it.

"'Brilliant'!” Logan said — no, thought Roman: _gushed_. “He actually said it was brilliant! And —‘perceptive’! Which — they are clearly _so_ much more advanced than us, there's so many reasons they could choose to essentially condescend but — but he didn't! He's _brilliant_ , and his people have done such _incredible_ things already just from what we’ve _seen in person_ , and he has, therefore if we’re being honest, every reason to consider me the technological equivalent of a — a novice, yet he didn’t! He is already willing to treat me like — like an _equal_ —"  
  
Logan — _Logan_ — bounced slightly in his seat. Roman could see his hands make a couple of brief movements, as if he weren’t sure what to do with them. 

“ — and that speaks metaphorical volumes, don’t you think? About their — their willingness to really create a genuine _partnership_ —”  
  
“‘Their’ in this case being the Tomasi, or _Virgil_?” Roman said, suppressing a chuckle. “I know you’ve been using mostly masculine pronouns for Virgil just now, but —”

“Well, both I suppose,” Logan said. One of his legs began to quietly bounce, and he frowned. “I really _should_ check if Virgil has any preference between them. I had somewhat assumed that giving only masculine and gender-neutral pronouns, they had been indicating a slight preference for either or even for the masculine, particularly since Virgil seems to pitch… their, voice somewhat low? And they seemed to use primarily ‘he’ pronouns for each other. But… absent any confirmation, you are correct that I shouldn’t _assume…_ ”

Roman nodded sagely. “Especially since you’ve already agreed to marry them. Pretty sure you should know someone’s preferred pronouns by then.”  
  
He had technically been teasing, but Logan nodded, his expression quite serious. 

“This is true… and therefore somewhat of an oversight on my part. Thank you for the reminder, Roman.”

Roman gave a noncommittal hum of acknowledgement, and struggled to contain the urge to laugh as Logan, quite literally, brought out his phone and opened his Notes app and started a new list titled “Virgil/Tomasi”. 

The very first item of which was “pronoun preference”.

The _second_ was “Tomasi marriage definition/expectations/traditions of note?”

Roman snorted, and Logan glanced up, brow furrowed in confusion. “What?”

“Nothing,” he said, fondly. “Nothing at all.”  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Roman: AWWW you know what never mind I ship it now, you two nerds are ADORABLE
> 
> AND IN OUR FINAL (for now) CHAPTER:
> 
> "The Duchenne Smile"
> 
> Logan and Virgil finally have some time to themselves to get to know each other, and Logan proves he is an excellent Space Fiancé.


	7. The Duchenne Smile

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Logan and Virgil finally have some time to themselves to get to know each other, and Logan proves he is an excellent Space Fiancé.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was originally going to be called "A Walk Among The Stars" (get it? 'cause they're on a space station?) but my beta gave me a MUCH more fitting idea for a chapter name so I changed it; speaking of which, shoutout to my dearest KitKat for ALL her help getting this thing done (*mostly* on schedule even!) 💖

It was shortly after his conversation with Roman had turned to pronouns, when Logan was adding some notes to his new list about some of the other things he had also discussed with Virgil about their needs, when Virgil themself exited Patton’s office.

Logan wasn’t sure what to make of Virgil’s body language, which still seemed somehow… tense? (Stiff, certainly; not coming across as what most would consider visibly ‘relaxed’). And their facial expression seemed to him to be on the spectrum of what he might consider a ‘carefully neutral’ range of expressions.

Which was to say: it was not _outwardly_ _distressed_. 

But. 

If Virgil were _human_ …

Logan had long had difficulty reading others’ facial expressions by whatever empathetic instinct most people did; however, even outside of the obvious _utility_ of having some idea of what others were emotionally experiencing, he did genuinely _care_ about how many of the people around him felt. As such, he had over time read up on the research into human facial expressions and body language and gestures, and compiled a mental catalog as it were, of particular facts and guidelines on the subject.

One such fact was the definition, and accompanying visual, of the _Duchenne smile._

The Duchenne smile had, he knew, been long ago identified as an expression that occurs on human faces, when the _zygomaticus major_ muscle lifts the corners of the mouth at the same time that the _orbicularis oculi_ muscles lift the individual’s cheeks; the result being a lifting of the upper cheeks and ‘scrunching’ of the area around the eye, including a ‘crinkling’ at the corners. This was, he had deduced, precisely what people meant by ‘smiling eyes’ and/or the difference between a smile that did, or did not, ‘reach the eyes’. In humans, a naturally-occurring Duchenne smile was generally a sign of genuine enjoyment and happiness.

The expression Virgil had on their face included a smile, politely directed at Patton as they nodded to him while exiting the room the interview had been conducted in.

It did not, to Logan’s eyes at least, appear to be even close to a Duchenne smile.

From what he could recall, Virgil had _seemed_ to display at least one expression that included what _appeared_ to be a Duchenne smile — specifically, his personal recollection was that such an expression had occurred immediately after Logan had accepted Virgil’s proposal.

It did, however, also occur to Logan that he probably could not yet rely on his already shaky intuition or his conscious knowledge, in this case; because all of those things would be applicable if Virgil were human… but Virgil was not. And the fact that Tomasi could change their shapes did mean that he should consider that their expressions in ‘human’ shape might not be as instinctively generated, nor could they be automatically presumed to be one-to-one matches to human ones.

It would be impolite to be inattentive in the moment when Virgil turned to him, so he chose to put away his phone in his pocket for the moment; the note he made to inquire about that particular issue was therefore purely mental.

Virgil turned towards them, and — 

_Interesting_ , Logan thought, as his chest and cheeks flooded with warmth.

The expression Virgil displayed when seeing Logan first included a relaxation of what Logan would normally assume to be facial muscles, followed by what appeared to be an expression _much_ closer to a Duchenne smile. 

Perhaps he had been nervous during the interview process?

Logan felt himself returning the smile, if only at the knowledge that it was at least likely that Virgil was expressing, consciously or otherwise, that they were pleased to see him, which was naturally a pleasant thought in itself. 

“Virgil,” he said, in a tone he knew most would call ‘warm’ or ‘gentle’. “Welcome back.”

The smile continued, with what Logan read as a brief ‘shy’ dipping of the head.

“Thanks,” Virgil replied.

Patton, closing the door behind him, noted: “I think I’ve got everything I need for now. Like I said, we should be able to have the Safe Harbor status established by morning, and we’ll figure out other things from there. In the meantime, you three should get some rest; it’s awful late, after all, and you’ve had quite a busy day!”

Roman (alongside Logan, of course) thanked Patton for coming out as late as he had to help them, and then engaged him in some additional friendly conversation.

Logan took the opportunity to speak to Virgil, and inquire about the concern Roman had brought up a few minutes prior.

“I have been reminded,” he said. “That I really should double check if you have a preference on pronouns.”

Virgil stilled slightly. "What, like… gender-wise?” they said cautiously. “I don’t think English has much other differentiation except for pluralizations, right?”

“Yes,” Logan said, nodding.

“Well… we um, don't really have that stuff in my culture, originally?” Virgil said, tone still quite careful. “We kinda don't — have the same kind of sex differentiation, so — it doesn't… really matter?"

"That's… actually fascinating and worth knowing,” Logan replied. “But I didn't ask about physical sex. That doesn't — have any relevance to what I'm asking. Human gender concepts are already social constructs even more so than the differentiation of physical or reproductive sexes already are, and — well, just as you can change your shape — humans have, as it were, _options_ , at least in our particular culture, in terms of how their own self-description or self-perception of their 'gender' and relationship to it are defined, let alone socially presented to others."   
  
There was a moment where Virgil appeared to contemplate that.   
  
"So… you're saying that your culture, in particular, is already… pretty flexible on these ‘gender’ signifiers, including pronouns? Am I… is that correct?"

"That is absolutely correct," Logan said, smiling gently. "Which means it is up to _you_ , Virgil, which set — or sets — of pronouns you happen to prefer."

"You… don't have a preference of your own on that front?" Virgil said, and the expression they had appeared to be somewhat wary or cautious.

Logan frowned; he had the sense that there was, somewhere in this conversation, an important miscommunication.

“Do you mean do I have a preference for myself?” he asked, carefully. “Because if so, the answer is that yes, I personally prefer to use masculine pronouns for myself — which in English would be ‘he’, ‘him’, and in the possessive case, ‘his’."

"No, I meant — like — I know different humans have different um… I think your term is, um, 'orientations'…?"

Logan blinked. What did that have to do with…?  
  
"Well… yes, we do,” he said. “Have… ‘orientations’, which is a term many people use to describe their preferences in romantic or sexual partners. But I… wasn't really concerned with that? I'm not marrying you for your _pronouns_ , Virgil. It would be frankly, nonsensical to suddenly change my mind about wanting to marry you, simply because you want to use a particular set of _pronouns_ for yourself. At least, I certainly think so."

"So… the reason you're asking is —?"

"Because I want to respect whatever your actual _preferences_ are, Virgil. Why wouldn't I?"

Virgil visibly appeared to relax at hearing that.

"Oh," Virgil said. "Okay. That's… that's very considerate of you, Dr. Sinclair."

"I… rather think it's the literal least I could do as a future spouse," Logan said, somewhat taken aback. "Also, Virgil, just in case there is any… confusion on this point either, you should know, you do not _need_ to refer to me by formalities or titles if you do not… want to?"

Virgil's lip twitched in a way that suggested it was trying to form a smirk. "So, what you're saying is, if we're getting married, we should _probably_ be on so-called 'first name basis'?"

"Well, it's up to you, of course," Logan said, shrugging. "But I'm very much fine with being referred to by my first name, either, if you're comfortable with doing so. Most people in my culture do so with people they are close to anyway, let alone their spouses or fiancés."

Virgil smiled, lopsided but seemingly genuine; Logan observed a crinkling at the corners of at least one eye. Virgil averted their gaze downward — not to the side, Logan noticed, but merely downward and up again, out of shyness, most likely.

“Well… okay then… Logan,” Virgil said, meeting his gaze, and Logan felt himself smiling in response. “I… I have a bit of a preference, so far I think, for the — the same ones you use? Pronouns, I mean.”

Logan was distantly surprised to realize parts of him had been tense before this, which he only realized at all because at finally getting confirmation that Virgil had a preference and that Logan had, in fact, been accurate in perceiving said preference, part of his chest and shoulders started to relax. 

“Thank you for telling me,” he said, feeling himself smile; feeling it reach the eyes.

Virgil gave him what appeared to be a shy, but pleased smile, brushing some of… _his_ hair out of his face, where it had fallen over his eyes.

Roman came up to them just then, and discussion commenced on such things as living arrangements (Logan noted that he had a ‘guest room’ if Virgil wished to have his own room) contact information, and so on. Roman then gave Logan a hug, and they parted ways for the night.

Logan’s apartment was at somewhat of a distance from the Visa Office, so, after he had checked with Virgil that he would be comfortable with mass transit, they took The Line. 

The Line, as it was usually referred to by Station residents, was a self-enclosed transport system running through much of the Station; though not all residents used it often, The Line was part of the basic services provided to all those living and working on SanStat. Owing to the largely 24 hour nature of space station operations, it ran at all hours, at least on the main route. 

This time of night however, having come from the stop by the currently-closed Visa Office, their tiny car was thankfully empty save for the two of them. 

Virgil watched as Logan took out his phone, pulled up the appropriate app, and entered their destination.

“The transport will notify us on this device with an alert as we approach the correct stop,” Logan explained, pointing to the screen, where a tiny map showed where they were on the route compared to the requested address, in the form of a moving green dot. “My apartment is actually quite close to the Station’s outer perimeter, and therefore to a stop on the main line, so it won’t be necessary to transfer to a different route. We’ll just walk the rest of the way from our stop.”

“Got it,” Virgil said, nodding. “So…”  
  
“It’ll take a few minutes before we get to our stop. There’s seating, you’d like…?”   
  
Virgil nodded and sat carefully down on the bench.

After a moment’s thought, Logan sat next to Virgil as well, though careful to give him some space so as to hopefully not feel ‘crowded’.

For a long and quiet moment, Logan sat there, phone on his lap and still open to the app so that Virgil could see their progress, thinking ahead to how he was getting Virgil settled — things like needing to check that the washroom facilities would be adequate, and asking himself if the sheets in the guest room were clean. 

And then he realized he kept seeing movement out of the corner of his eye, and realized it was… Virgil.

He was lightly gripping the edge of the bench, legs bouncing slightly.

“Virgil,” he said, making sure to keep his voice soft. “Are you all right?” 

Despite the softness of his tone, he apparently still startled him, as Virgil jerked in surprise.   
  
“Apologies,” Logan said. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”   
  
“No, it’s okay,’ Virgil said, smiling at him. “Sorry though, I didn’t quite catch what you asked…?

The smile did not reach Virgil’s eyes.

“I was wondering how you were feeling,” Logan said.  
  
“Oh,” Virgil said. There was hesitation in the response. “I’m… fine? Why?”

“You seem… perhaps a little tense, or restless perhaps?” Logan was disturbed to see Virgil go very still for a moment in response to that. As if he’d been… caught, doing something wrong.

He frowned, and told him: “It’s all right if you’re nervous, Virgil. It’s very understandable, especially being in such a new environment, and around new people.”

Some of the tension in Virgil’s frame appeared to ease.

“Y-yeah… you’re right,” he said. “That makes… sense. I guess — I don’t know. ‘Restless’ is a good way of describing it. I have… just, too much…?”

Virgil appeared to struggle with finding the word he was looking for, so Logan decided to take some of the psychological burden from him, with a simple, direct question:  
  
“Is sitting relatively still helping or hindering with regards to your emotional state?”

Virgil pursed his lips.   
  
“I… don’t think it’s helping?” he said.

Logan nodded slowly, a thought already coming to mind.

“Well,” he said. “My apartment is near some of the quieter, less-trafficked areas of the Station which, nonetheless, have some very pleasant views of the Earth this time of night. Would you like to perhaps drop off your things in my apartment and, potentially, take a walk in these areas? Not that you are obligated to do so,” he added quickly. “But if you think you might like to, I am not opposed to showing you the area. I myself am…”

He chuckled. 

“I am… still in a rather excited state, I think. So I have the energy for a walk if you want to do so.”

Which was an understatement, really; his body felt warm, and almost as if it were _thrumming_ in excitement and he could not help but feel quite awake, and wasn’t sure he’d be able to sleep very readily.   
  
He did not express the details of that, however, as he could still find things to occupy his mind and hands at the apartment as well, and did not wish to influence Virgil’s decision.   
  
“I… huh,” Virgil said, and appeared to be pondering the suggestion when the alert for their stop came up.

“Well,” Logan said gently. “There’s no rush. We’ll get to the apartment and get things set up for you, and if you want to go on the walk, we can, yes?”  
  
Virgil smiled at him. It was soft, in a way, but it appeared to reach his eyes a little more this time.   
  
“Yeah,” he said. “Sounds good.”

* * *

  
They walked the short distance to his apartment and he showed Virgil the basic amenities and let him stow his bag in the guest room. And then Virgil did, indeed, ask — albeit shyly — if Logan was still interested in going for the proposed walk. 

And so it was that they wound up here, late into the night, along the quiet walkways at the perimeter of the Station.

Virgil, from what he could tell, was still somewhat nervous as they started out. Understandable, of course, but Logan did hope to alleviate that somewhat.  
  
After all, considering what Janus and even Virgil had said, and the implications of such — it would have been _incredibly_ cruel, after agreeing to the marriage, to intentionally harm or distress him in any way. 

And Logan was not in the habit of being cruel, if he could avoid it. 

So putting Virgil at ease around him — reducing his distress — was a goal well worth pursuing. Hopefully the act of being in each other’s presence for a more extended period of time, and the presumable conversation that would potentially occur during it, would help in this process, if only by reducing the unknowns Virgil was dealing with and, for that matter, gradually reassuring him of Logan’s intent and nature.

Failing that, physical exercise in humans, at least, tended to spend energy that a nervous body typically had in uncomfortable excess. So, perhaps for a Tomasi as well, it might give an outlet for some of the nervousness, while being hopefully also low-impact, he thought.

It was, as they say, ‘worth a shot’, he had felt.

He had a secondary reason, of course, for choosing a walk specifically along a path in the Station that he knew well, and that was that he could ensure that Virgil was not forced to make constant contributions to the conversation — something that he knew tended to cause extra anxiety in many individuals even without considering diplomatic or cross-cultural sensitivities. 

This way, Logan could treat it like a guided tour, with him as the guide, and Virgil would not only be able to familiarize himself with the Station, he would also hopefully not feel obligated to figuratively ‘fill’ the silence, as he would hopefully understand that he could take a passive role in the conversation. 

The approach did seem to be helping, Logan thought.

Virgil had still seemed somewhat nervous a few minutes into the walk, but less so the further they went; his movements became gradually less hesitant and stiff, and his hands fidgeted less. This was, Logan thought, already a promising improvement.  
  
And then Virgil caught sight of the view. 

He let out a happy-sounding little _“oh!”,_ and moved quickly towards the window; Logan noticed much of the tension that appeared to be held in his body ease.   
  
“It’s _beautiful_ ,” he said softly. “I never got this good of a view from any window on the Portus! This is… wow! It’s so pretty!”   
  
This was an assessment which Logan could not help but agree with, as part of the Earth currently visible was in sunny daylight hours, with another part, including a good portion of Europe, still in nightfall, its many cities collectively appearing as a spectacular scattering of lights in the darkness. 

It was true that it likely wasn’t _quite_ as spectacular and emotionally moving for him, who had grown up seeing it so often, compared to those from the ground who rarely went above the upper atmosphere; however, the knowledge that so many billions of people, so many countless species of plants and animals and fungi, all lived and moved and breathed and ate and _interacted_ down there… was still humbling, when he allowed himself to ponder it. 

It was also still objectively very aesthetically pleasing to the figurative eye, regardless of any philosophical musings.

Virgil’s reaction was one that Logan paid attention to, though. While he wasn’t seeing the Earth from space for the first time (apparently far from it), his expression as he looked down at that metaphorical ‘pale blue marble’ had been what Logan would generally interpret as _fond._ His face at least, appeared to be somewhat relaxed, his eyes alert-looking but not particularly wide, his brow unfurrowed, and his mouth — 

If Virgil had been human, Logan would have called the expression a clear and genuine Duchenne smile. 

But Virgil was _not_. 

Virgil was not even from the same _planet_ as humans. 

Which again raised at least one intriguing question that Logan felt compelled, under the circumstances, to get an answer to, if only to better understand Virgil for Virgil’s sake.  
  
Namely: the fact that both Janus and Virgil regularly seemed to _smile._

Even on Earth, a smile was an _unusual_ expression. A true smile, that is one of affection or happiness, spontaneously generated as an upturning of one or both corners of the mouth, was really only commonly found in the primate species.   
  
The rarity of it made sense, given that baring the teeth, especially, was generally and understandably a threat gesture in most species that had such a visible mouth. Even in humans, for that matter, there were plenty of expressions that would seem _similar_ to a smile on a surface level, and may even be described as such, that were still nonetheless expressions of some sort of aggression.

This did not, however, appear to be anything of the sort. 

Virgil’s smiles seemed… human-like.

So human-like that it seemed like Logan had accurately gauged several times when it had been… well, perhaps a little _forced,_ the way one might do to be polite or as a soothing gesture.

So human-like that despite those forced smiles, Logan had also recognized the playful tilt of his and Janus’s smirks, as they apparently teased each other. 

So human-like that this would mark only the most recent of several expressions fitting the visual of Duchenne smile, all of them matching times where Virgil’s body seemed to relax, which would seem to indicate a decrease in stress and thus possibly an increase of joy or enjoyment.

So very, very human-like.

Which was _objectively strange._

Unexpected by any reasonable standard, surely.

However… given that Tomasi were by their own description, ‘shapeshifters’, it became an intriguing question: were they simply _mimicking_ a movement? Or was the expression somehow genuine, and if so — how, and why?

He couldn’t think of another way but to ask directly, so… 

Keeping his tone as ‘casual’, as ‘off-handed’ as possible, he said: “You know, Virgil… there’s something I’ve been wondering tonight.”

“Oh?” Virgil said, turning his head and tilting it, face seemingly still relaxed.

How to word this… 

“The smiles,” Logan went with, gesturing one hand vaguely in the direction of Virgil’s face. “Are they… natural?”

To his dismay, he did not have time to clarify before Virgil apparently assumed the worst, going still again and blurting out: “W-why? Does — does it not _look_ natural? I’m not hitting the Uncanny Valley, am I?”   
  
"Oh no!” Logan quickly assured him. “No, nothing like that — it's just that, even on Earth, human smiles are an outlier; similar expressions are generally threat displays in the vast majority of other species. So I wondered if the expression was, er… learned?” 

He found himself biting his lip in thought as something occurred to him, something he didn’t _think_ was true, but he had to be sure, so he added: “Or… forced? Because — you know, Virgil, you don't have to force any facial expressions with me. I'd be more than happy to learn whatever yours naturally are."

"I… oh," Virgil said softly. 

He stared for a moment at Logan, before… smiling again, softly. "No, it's not — not like that. I mean, you're right that it — my face, I mean — wouldn't _naturally_ do that, but we — you… you know how I mentioned, um… we could change our shapes, a bit?"

"Yes, of course,” Logan said, resisting the urge to smirk in amusement. “If you will recall, I was quite surprised to see you both appear as 'human' as you do, but quite a bit more so to see some of the… _displays_ , Janus made of his own abilities in that area. Why do you ask?"

"Well… I mean. It's not just external? Like… you're right that my people don't _normally_ smile, in the sense that a human would? But, well. We do have, um… ‘displays’? That have the same, um, meaning? I just, kinda… rerouted that, if you will.”   
  
Logan blinked. “Re…routed?”   
  
“Like... the nerve pathways, the reflexes? While I was copying the musculature? Had to be able to move the muscles anyway, so a bunch of nerve pathways had to get completely shuffled around _regardless_ , so it just made sense to... configure the expressive reflexes pretty similarly if we could?"

"Oh," Logan said, understandably intrigued. “That’s… incredible, actually! That’s a very impressive level of control over your own physiology!”   
  
Virgil smiled again, ducking his head down shyly, brushing hair back behind his ear. “Yeah… thanks. Takes a lot of practice to do it that in-depth, but, you know.”   
  
Yet again, Logan was left with a number of whole new questions.   
  
"What are they normally like, then? Your natural emotional displays I mean. You've never really said much about your natural default shape… aside, of course, from it having more than one set of vocal cords."

"Ah... well," Virgil said, apparently hesitant at first, but looking at Logan speculatively for a moment and seemingly coming to a conclusion. "It's… um, honestly? it's usually a — you know how I —" 

He pointed to his face and made a circular gesture, as if to encompass the whole of it. 

" — how I have a human-looking skin tone? Or how Janus made those scales iridescent gold? We can alter our pigmentation. Which happens both consciously and unconsciously, depending. The display that's equivalent to smiling? It uses that. There's a few different variants, actually, based on the… sort of… specific 'vibe', as it were? Like, you know how there's ‘aggressive smiles’, and ‘sad smiles’, and small ones and grins, and — like that? Pretty sure there's equivalents to all of those, maybe more."

Logan felt the familiar, bubbling joy in his chest that always came with knowing he was gaining really _interesting_ knowledge.   
  
"That's… fascinating! What colors are they? Or is it a pattern?"

"Both, kinda? I can… we can um, I'll have Janus look it up for us? So you’d have… all of them?"

Logan nodded enthusiastically. "That would be greatly appreciated. Thank you, Virgil."

He then paused thoughtfully, and added: "Is it just a visual display? Is there an equivalent of, say, a laugh?"

"Oh, yeah," Virgil replied and Logan was gratified to see him more relaxed now, apparently having realized that he could genuinely speak honestly on the topic. "It's — there's actually, like, the color display and the — er, sound… display? Expression? Anyway, they're separate; we can actually do them separately — I mean, they're _kinda_ reflexive? But like — the sound and the color both, or like either, can be suppressed to an extent? Or not suppressed so much as hidden I guess. If we're — under stress, kinda? Which. You know. I mean I guess that sounds weird —"

"Oh, not really," Logan says, quickly catching on that Virgil is feeling self-conscious all of a sudden. "That's… that makes a great deal of sense for a species adept at changing their pigmentation and even shape; most of the species on Earth that do anything of the sort do so as some sort of camouflage, either as a predation technique or a predator avoidance tactic, if not both. If you could suppress either a color change that tried to occur or a vocalization that would, it would no doubt improve the chances of the camouflage being successful. I’d be interested in knowing how your people manage to suppress them though, biologically speaking."

"Well, there's like… there's a top layer that if we're focused enough on triggering it to activate, it's consciously controlled? And it can be made opaque. So like… you'd still get the change, you just can't necessarily _see_ it, if that makes sense?”   
  
“ _Layers_ of changeable pigmentation,” Logan said. “That’s such a fascinating and useful adaptation!”   
  
“Heh. Yeah. The same holds true with the — vocalizations? We can kinda — honestly, it's actually part of the shape changing in a way, in that it involves physiological control? We can clamp down on — like, just, not use? — the vocal cords if we need them to not… move? It's how I can speak to you in normal human language without thinking about the other set all the time."

"That's truly fascinating," Logan said, softly, because the implications were simply… awe-inspiring. "Your species must have the most versatile physiology or anatomy I think I've ever heard of! And you say you... you just… 'rerouted' that response to mimic a human smile instead?"

"Oh! Yeah. So like… when I get the urge to do… what my body would normally default to? Instead, it triggers the same muscles a human smile would."

"That's incredible," Logan said, feeling somewhat giddy (and it admittedly probably helped to know that those likely had, in fact, been Duchenne smiles he had been observing, but the knowledge alone…).  
  
" _Magnificent,_ really!” he added.” And you can just… _do_ this? Does it not… hurt, or strain anything, to hold a shape for so long?"

"…ah, well," Virgil said softly, and Logan immediately knew both that he would likely not like what he was about to hear, and that he should still hear it. 

"I mean… it doesn't _hurt_?” Virgil continued. “We're meant to be able to hold shapes if we need to, you know? But… well, you know that, um… that phrase 'don't make that face so much, it'll stick that way', or… I'm not sure of the exact phrase actually but it was something like that —"

He stopped, apparently realizing that Logan, who felt absolutely horrified at that revelation, was in fact, horrified at that revelation.

"You —” Logan stammered. “You could be _stuck_ in a — in this one shape!?"

"I — well. Only if I — only if it were held for too long at a time," Virgil said, taking a shy, hesitant step toward him. "It's… it's more a matter of becoming acclimated to the shape? Our… default, is malleable, but other shapes aren't, so much? But like! We can hold it for a few days or even _weeks_ and still do big shifts if we want, with no problem! It just… gets trickier to get back from it? At least for, you know, just — the major shifts. The — " 

He grabbed a lock of his hair, holding it up. "The hair and skin and stuff, pigmentation? That and a few other things I could probably change if — if I needed — wanted to? It's just the basic shape that might stick a little? Just — make a change… back, or to something else, a little tricky?"

Yes, Logan was _definitely_ horrified at this revelation.

"And I mean… if, I mean, if it helps us communicate better,” Virgil stammered. “I — I really don't mind? If that happens?"  
  
As Logan tried to metaphorically wrap his head around that assertion, Virgil quickly added, “It’s not like I don’t _like_ this shape, after all. I mean — it's… I don't mind…? I'm getting really used to it by now… you know?"

For some very good reasons, this did not reduce Logan's distress. If anything, it made him feel _more_ distressed. To be — to let himself be — !?

Virgil went quiet for a moment, until Logan finally got himself back together enough to speak.

"I… I would _never_ ask that of you, Virgil," he said eventually, softly. "You don't need to… to _risk_ that. Not for me. Not for _anyone_ . You should — you should be in whatever shape you actually find _comfortable_ , Virgil. You don't — I know you —" 

He closed his eyes, took a deep, slow breath, and let it out equally slowly, before opening them again. 

"I know you… took this shape to be — to ‘communicate better’ and to not, I suppose — to not 'unsettle' me, as you put it? — but you. Virgil, you shouldn't have to _change who you are_ . That's not _fair_ to you. And it has _never_ been my expectation."

"…oh," Virgil said softly. "I…" 

Logan heard him swallow; he fidgeted, wringing his hands for a moment.   
  
"I didn't mean to imply — it's not..." He made an uncomfortable-sounding _buzz_ in his throat, before taking his own slow, deep breath, and met Logan's eyes again. "It wouldn't change _who_ ," he said, smiling softly. "It's… just a shape, you know? It took some getting used to, but — " he lets out a frustrated breath. "I don't know how to put this, but — with you… it's…"

He paused, lowering his eyes for a moment and clearly considering his words before he looked back up. "It's… it's _nice_ . With you. When I'm with you, I don't mind this shape at _all_ , and I — guess that sounds to you like I'm _settling_ or something? But it's not like that. It's…"

His cheeks seemed then to flush, though it was a slightly violet hue rather than pink, and Logan wondered if that was his control of his pigmentation slipping, or… something else?  
  
Virgil looked down, as if embarrassed, and it occurred to Logan it may actually be… something akin to a blush, perhaps?

"I like it," Virgil said softly. "When… I like this _shape_."

Logan swallowed against his own nerves. "Then why… why are you looking downward, as if to avoid my gaze? If you're comfortable that way —"

Virgil, to his surprise, laughed, and peeked back up at him.

"Oh, I never said I was completely _comfortable_ in it. I'm…" A smile — a genuine one, Logan thought, but somewhat sideways. “You ever hear the idiom 'a fish out of water'? It's like that. I'm still…"   
  
He looked away, out through the window, to the stars, and sighed. "I'm still getting used to _everything_ , you know? It's not just the shape; _everything_ is me — getting used to it. But, Logan…"

He met his eyes again and his smile was soft, Logan thought, perhaps even fond.

"You've already made it all so much _easier_ , to get used to."

That violet tinge increased as he looked back to the window. "When I'm around you… it all seems like — like I could be kind of… _happy_ , like this."

"That's…" Logan had to clear his throat, and it occurred to him his _own_ cheeks felt rather warm. "That is… good to hear, Virgil. But that's not — that's not what I… _meant_ , exactly. I just mean — it _sounds_ like it would cause difficulty for you, if you stayed in this shape too long? And I don't — I do not _wish_ you to have such difficulties. Let alone in addition to everything else you're, as you put it, still 'getting used to'. Surely you… could spend _some_ time in your natural shape, sometime? Unless something is preventing —"

" _Oh_ ," Virgil said, and then nodded, his expression turned thoughtful. "I… well. It. Um… yes and no?"

Logan frowned. "What is the 'yes' in this case?"

"It's… uh. Kind of… aquatic?" Virgil said, sheepishly.

Logan blinked, and then pondered this. 

"So… you would need what, exactly? A tank, perhaps? That is, a container filled with water?"

"Um... a —pretty _large_ tank, honestly. With water, yeah — what you’d call saltwater? Like, it's, um."   
  
He ducked his head again, looking away, nervously. "Kind of… _squishy_? If I want to, like, basically 'reset' the shape? That means relaxing my body completely, and, yeah… I'd. Need water for that, to support… you know. My body. It would need to be pretty large."

Logan hummed thoughtfully. 

"Do you know how many liters it would need to accommodate? Or what, if any, chemicals we would need to filter for it? I don't know if you're aware of this, but the Station actually has an on-board… well. We call it an 'aquarium'— it's where aquatic species are collected and studied and sometimes shown to the public. Mostly for educational purposes. I interned with a friend there during college and am still a supporter on good terms with the staff. I could very likely seek their aid in adapting one of their facilities to —”

Virgil’s hands were moving, fluttering almost frantically in front of him.

“Virgil? Are you all ri—"

“I — yes! I — sorry, this isn't!” Virgil exclaimed. “This is _excitement_ , but _not the bad kind_ , I — _Logan_ ," he said, and there appeared to be… tears? In his eyes?

His hands reached out, partway between the two of them, twitching almost, as if he were hesitant to… _oh._

Logan remembered now, back on the Portus, before Virgil had left Janus. How Janus, who was both literal and figurative family to him, who clearly cared about him and vice versa, had held Virgil’s hands, not just once but twice, as a form of affection or physicalized soothing gesture.

It occurred to him that hand-holding was not what one would necessarily call a human ‘instinct’, and certainly not reflexive or automatic, and… had therefore probably not been deliberately mimicked by them the way they had for smiles. 

The Tomasi… did the equivalent of holding hands. As a form of affection.

As a form of soothing and comfort.

But if they had truly studied Earth’s many cultures… Janus may well have told Virgil that such touches could be considered inappropriate in many contexts.

Logan slowly, carefully, lifted his own hands towards Virgil. 

Held them out towards him, palms up — a silent offer, if he chose to accept.

After a moment, he did, placing his hands ever so tentatively into Logan's open palms.

He was still wearing his gloves, but they were a smooth and not unpleasant texture.

Virgil was indeed now very purple-cheeked, which would be disconcerting were he human. But since he was not, Logan resolved to simply ask about it a little later; he had his theories, but it could wait. 

Because he didn’t want to disturb, to break, this moment. 

Because Virgil was holding his hands, and he was relaxed, and he was _smiling_ at him and it —

It was _definitely_ _a_ Duchenne smile. 

And Logan had one to match.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> …The End (of The Beginning)!
> 
> And yes, I absolutely have ideas planned for continuing this verse, so if you enjoyed this fic enough to want to see more, feel free to subscribe to the Series! :)


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